Narrator's Tale
by Professor Ken
Summary: Christmas Special 2008. This is the tale of a reticent young dreamer and exile of common society who, with a help from a few friends old and new, faces the nightmares of his own convoluted life. Finally complete as of 2/27/11!
1. Chapter 1

Greetings, readers. This is a story that I wrote as a Christmas present for my family; at least, that's what it started out as. I have decided to share this story with you. It's a story about... well, the best dream that I never had. What more can I say? I wrote about someone I knew the most, one of very few who really do. Call it art, call it blasphemy, call it catharsis; it is all and it is none. I have done my utmost to make this story something different, something unique. I shall not harry you much further, but only to remind (as ever) that, mere mortal that I am, I do not own the NiGHTS series; it is in far worthier hands than mine. Hereon I resign, for this story can say far more than I ever could.

-*-

Prologue: Ingression

_The wind was cold, sweeping the crisp autumn air around, a brush at a whim. The rustle of leaves tossed playfully about in the breeze, pressed against the side of an old stone wall, the like of which littered the woods, remnants of old places long since forgotten. Some trees still bore bright plumage, though their limbs were dark and lithe, like bony hands held over the air._

_Stepping easily amidst the forest of branches, he cast a glance to his surroundings, drinking in the scenery with his dark brown eyes. The wind passed him by, tugging at his jacket, baiting him to forsake his view for his hood. He nudged right through, touching the edge of his glasses. The wind was not the master of this place; he was._

_At his whim, the scenery changed. Trees plunged skywards, and the earth beneath him turned to an ocean of brush. Everything burst into vibrant green all around him, forests the world had never before seen. In the blink of an eye, the fancy was gone; the earth resumed its usual presence, ignorant of the change. No one would know the difference. His eyes alone could see such things. The mood was ever with him—the need to change, to control, to create. This steady world of gloom and darkness, that which seldom changed but for the worse, was easy to switch for another, one far more pleasant, perhaps. The real world was complicated, and ugly, and hard. The worlds of the mind were far easier traversed._

_The wind swelled; in his mind he fed it, from a breeze to a torrent gust. The forest around him was blasted flat in an instant, covered beneath miles of snow and ice. Towering majesties of glacial ice crested a sea of drifts, a pearlescent world of white and gray. There was sound, from all angles and places. Scenes of glorious combat overtook him. Tanks tore over mounds of snow, unleashing a hail of plasma from their turret-mounted mass drivers. Following from the rear came rows of personnel carriers, machineguns bursting from their armored sides. On the other side of the mounds, the enemy faltered, their tremendous numbers liquefied by the sheer mass of firepower that came upon them. He stood at the crest, watching as the enemy broke ranks, futilely resisting the crushing victory that lay ahead. He led the charge, the plunge to purge the Ice Planet of the Dark One, once and for all. The Crescent Armada's birth into power was here on Lucia, where the military genius of the Ardorless Admiral, Silver Crescent, was carved into the ice for all ages, in the War Without Wages…_

_Suddenly, the vision changed. The skies blazed with the chill fires of the unprecedented. Great ships, black and crimson, blotted out the skies, pulling in from places unknown. Terrible weapons turned to the earth; darkmatter fell from the heavens, as the Dark One's Dread Fleets laid waste to all things living beneath, scourging the ground with an unlight none could withstand. _

_The vision was from his hands, stolen from the means of its creator. It was all over, the glory of victory. The great admiral was dead—only the Creator, the meak and vulnerable Narrator, all too human, none too great. This could not happen! He wrote the stories, he told the tales, the ballads were under his hand, as he saw right, the lord of a great realm—how could this be?_

_The Dark One's great ship, the Dreadnaught _Mire_, hovered overhead, seeing the destruction of all that was good. The Narrator could only watch in horror as his world, the one place he had any control, any meaning, was torn to shreds about him. The Dark One didn't win! He lost, he died, he was destroyed, and all evil in the universe with him—_

_The fantasy was the reality, and it was dreadful. The air rippled crimson in front of him. He needed no explanation—he knew, he always knew, it was too obvious to think of, that it was not the great warrior Goldeye to save him, not even the least among the heroes of the world. No, this thing that came upon him, a blasphemy of his creations, was one of the Dark One's terrible minions, come to finish off the last insignificant speck of good in this place before the Terrene was once more cast to the eternal darkness…_

_He knew of all the things that walked or thought in the Terrene; he had fathered them all, they were all his heirs, even the most foul his offspring. But this monstrosity was none among them, wrought not by his hands—the irony! It was like a dark shadow, a creeping monstrosity of no particular element, save perhaps fear itself. It outstretched long, entangling arms of blackest despair, clawing as though for his innermost being. The Narrator attempted to flee, to put his legs to good use, but it was a wasted effort, for this thing could outrun time itself. The Shadow's touch was cold, clammy, like the grip of death—it tore at him wildly, digging into him, as though searching for some choice organ to eat and rejecting all the rest. He could not scream, or fight, or evade—it was too late, too late. Darkness surrounded him, the darkest of all, and all there was left was his agonized terror…_

_There was light again, so bright that he went completely blind, like a man seeing for the first time. A strong, but gentle, arm curled around his midsection and pulled, yanking him backwards, further into the light. Beyond, there was nothing more…_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One: Portal

The ground met my feet hard beneath the soles of my shoes; I shot back up like a spring. Fear clawed at my insides, jerking me wildly from side to side, my eyes looking but reading nothing. It took a moment for me to assure myself that I was safe, away from the Shadow. The nightmare of Lucia had receded, and I was free of that place. Although, granted, I could not say exactly where I was _now_… this place was nothing like anything _I'd_ come up with!

I touched my hand to my face, nudging my spectacles higher up onto the bridge of my nose, and gently adjusting the frame—a nervous habit, more than a necessity. I was in a courtyard of sorts, like the sort a church or mansion might have. There were no lamps, but enough stars in the sky overhead to give fair enough light. I passed through an old iron gate, its Victorian style briefly courting my fancy; I brushed it with my hand, feeling the grain of wrought iron beneath. In front of me was a large fountain, the likes of which no big mansion would be complete without, the constant stream of water making a steady, satisfying sound as it fell. I walked over to the fountain, mystified by the melody of movement and glitter of light from within. Three marble sculptures—whales, by the look of them—rested in the fountain's pool, tails and heads pointed to the heavens above. I smiled faintly, resting my arms on the side of the fountain. I could have stayed there for hours and thought nothing of it. However, a sudden voice made me do an about-face. "HIYA!"

I expected to see the perpetrator of the call behind me, but there was nothing there but empty air, a void of anything that, even in my mind, could be stretched into a speaking role.

There was a sharp, tripping enclave of laughter, from somewhere over my shoulder; the voice called again, in a tone like a handful of jewels tossed into a pond. "Hey, Visitor, up here!"

I swiveled around, searching frantically for the caller. The laughter continued, once again behind me—it dawned on me that not only was the obnoxious presence coming from above me, but whoever was speaking was evading my sight, making a game out of hiding outside my cone of sight. I rolled my eyes and tested my theory by turning around again. Judging by the continual laughter from the unseen source, my hypothesis was proven.

Before I could formulate a plan to trick this person into my field of view, the game ended as suddenly as it had began, as the person seized me by the shoulders and began dragging me around the little plaza, bubbling with glee. "Yay! A new Visitor! Let's play, let's play!"

I thrashed around zealously, wrenching sideways to free myself from the maniacal grasp of this erratic perpetrator, whirling around and preparing to hurl some choice fire and brimstone in their direction. Only my own curiosity stood against me—fortunately, as I probably would have babbled incoherently if I hadn't from the sight alone!

This—this _creature_, I suppose one could call it, was certainly nothing that I'd seen in my life, although perhaps reminiscent of my stories. Dressed in vibrant tones of violet, pink and white in a costume that could only be described as a jester's—complete with oversized two-tined hat and lacy edgings—its entire appearance screamed of foreign origins, certainly from nowhere I was familiar with; not even the Lucians of my writings, shape-shifting spell casters renowned for their odd appearances, would take such a form. It levitated a few feet off the ground, although I was fairly certain I was a bit taller than it were its feet firmly pressed on the ground. My intrinsic evaluation then kicked in, promptly reassuring me that nothing of its proportions could be called human, save perhaps its possession of two hands, legs, arms, eyes, and such on. It was too narrow, too unfamiliar, too—conical?—in profile. And yet, somehow, my brain managed to compile all of this awkward data into a recognizable form, and I could honestly say that the creature wasn't at all unsightly. Perhaps it was the compilation of its face—even though it lacked ears, a brow ridge, or even a nose, it was still a healthy shade of peach, and its eyes and mouth at least were centered, the front of its hat (which, upon closer examination, looked to be an extension of its head rather than a hat) forming a long violet widows-peak, neatly dividing its features in half. Above all things, its _eyes_—they were easily three times the size of mine, with pupils the size of baseballs, a twinkling blaze of sapphire.

For a moment we both held still, staring at one another, eyes locked. I was fixated on its eyes, could hardly see anything else. Most people have bright eyes, but this creature, it was like a star enshrined in an azure globe, the light of which whirled around inside, a life of its own. They said so much of the creature, so much of it, more than I could ever express through words. I cannot explain why I was so affixed; perhaps it is human nature, for the eyes are the portal to the inner being, and something about maintaining eye contact was truthful and good, as though you gazed upon the person's very soul.

Those few moments had stricken the both of us, and though the jester-creature was the first to break away and move, it did so smoothly and gracefully, its pace measured so that it would stop right in front of me, slightly to the side. "Sorry about that," it explained apologetically. Now that it wasn't shouting, I could hear its real voice, a pleasant tone with (I thought) a distinctly feminine ring. "Visitors aren't really common, and I get a little excited whenever I get to meet a new one."

"A 'little excited' indeed," I growled, crossing my arms. I did feel quite as sour as my voice might suggest, but I had a point to make. "Never do that again!"

The jester smiled mischievously. "Oh, I'm sorry, you didn't like that?" she asked, leaning forwards right into my face. In response to the violation of my personal space, I doubled backwards, nearly falling into the fountain behind me. The jester took that cue to float a few feet forwards, the sly smirk engraved into her face, as though enjoying my obvious discomfort as I pressed straight against the edge of the fountain, attempting to keep the strange jester-creature away from me.

Her expression softened, and thankfully she drifted back, allowing me to pull away from the fountain. "You're awful shy, aren't you?"

I nodded nervously, regaining my bearings as I did. "I don't like getting really close to people," I admitted.

The jester shrugged. "I never understand people like you, I mean, I don't bite, geez, how can anyone be afraid of little old _me_?"

I started with a reply, but decided against it. The question was rhetorical… I think it was, anyways, I can never quite tell when people are being sarcastic or whatever. Not important; I suddenly recalled a very pressing question that I had, that this jester might be able to answer. "Hey, do you know where I am?"

The jester looked oddly at me. "What, I didn't tell you already? Oh, oops, I must've forgotten!" She smiled sheepishly. "I do that a lot… anyways, I guess I've got to give you the lecture now, huh? Okay, so you fall asleep in your world, and then you come here to the Dream Dimension, Nightopia, and… umm…" The jester strained to think, as though only vaguely recalling the entirety of what she wanted to say.

"Nightopia?" I asked, looking around. "Seems kinda small…"

The jester shook her head. "No, no, this is just the gateway that leads _into_ Nightopia! Anyways, you were about to get eaten by the Nightmaren—they're bad, want to eat your soul and such—but I found you and pulled you away from them, but unfortunately I wasn't quite quick enough, so you lost most of your Ideya anyways…"

"Ideya? What's an Ideya?" I asked, seeing as she was trailing off again.

"Dreaming energy," the jester replied. "There's five major kinds—Hope, Purity, Knowledge, Wisdom, and Courage—you usually have all five but unfortunately the Maren nicked some of them, so you have…" She leaned forwards and squinted, meeting me directly in the eyes, like she was taking a reading of my eyesight. The jester frowned. "Only… your Knowledge Ideya left…"

"What does that mean?" I inquired.

She sighed. "It means that you are an unlucky guy, that's what. You lost your Courage Ideya, that's the really important one, and I guess you just got lucky and kept your Knowledge Ideya for some reason. Usually when Visitors get attacked, the Courage Ideya is the last one to go, and then…" The jester flicked her hand in the air. "You're having some really nasty dreams that night, and probably a lot less sleep."

I raised an eyebrow. "So basically I'm screwed?"

The jester shrugged. "Can't say for certain. I have no clue how you kept any of them—I mean, you lost the good one, which usually means you're a goner, but, well, you defied the odds there." She scowled, suddenly bristling. "But I'm not calling it quits! I never give up on a Visitor once I've saved them! We're just going to have to go get all those others back!"

"Of course we are," I said flatly. If this was a dream, then it wasn't a typical one, as my common sense was not warped enough for me to not realize the implications of her statement. "If these—Nightmaren, you called them?—took my Ideya, then shouldn't they still have them?"

The jester nodded. "Either that, or they could have headed back to Nightmare and hid them somewhere. Either way, it shouldn't be too hard to find them, as they'll keep making runs on you until you have nothing left for them to steal."

"Yeah, I guess that would… hey, waitaminute, does that mean I'm going to be attacked?" My voice took a wry, sarcastic edge. "That sure sounds pleasant…"

"Yes, and if they actually manage to get that last Ideya, it's goodnight to you," the jester corrected. "So we'll just have to fight them for it!"

I could certainly detect a tone of cheeriness in her voice. "And you seem so happy about it, too… umm..." I paused; did the jester not bother introducing herself, or was I forgetting names again? "What did you say your name was?"

The jester made a loop in midair. "My name is NiGHTS," she trilled. "What's yours?"

"Ken… Professor Ken, if you don't mind," I replied.

"Professor?" NiGHTS made a face. "That's a weird name…"

I sighed. "It's not a name, it's a title, like 'Sir' or 'Lord'. It's a nickname I've picked up."

"Oh, that's cool!" NiGHTS bristled with cheer. "Can I have one? Can I have one?"

"Sure," I said, veiling my disgust with her rude antics. "Give me some time with it, though, I've got to come up with a good one." At the moment I was thinking of 'simpleton', but I figured that something more fitting would present itself eventually.

NiGHTS was apparently no longer interested in it, as she began looking around, as though searching for something. "So, let's see now… Oh, I see one! Yes! Nightopia's still open!" She grabbed me by the arm and began dragging me across the courtyard. I twisted free of her grip. "Geez, I can walk on my own, you cretin!" I snapped. "Where the hell are you dragging me off to?"

"Over there!" NiGHTS responded gleefully, pointing across the courtyard. A single door sat on a little pedestal, glowing with a greenish aura. I gave it an odd stare; it hadn't been there before, had it? The door looked like it went to nowhere, but I wasn't stupid enough to actually believe that. If a door can glow green like that, I figured, it probably can teleport you too. "And what, exactly, is there to make you so excited about it?"

"Nightopia, the land of dreams!" NiGHTS exclaimed, doing another twirl in the air. "It's always a fun new experience there! C'mon, let's go!"

NiGHTS dashed off towards the door. Although I had no way of outrunning (rather, out_flying_) her, I marched stiffly over to the door. She watched from right next to it, looking steadily less patient by the second.

"I can't believe how slow you Visitors are," NiGHTS said scornfully as I walked past her.

"Can it," I said staunchly. "I walk very fast by human standards, and I can't fly like you can."

NiGHTS smiled mysteriously, leaning forwards. "_Yet_," she persisted with a cackle.

Giving her an odd look, I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. There was a flash of green light, and the world around me vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two: The Midnight Casino

I stepped out on the other side of the door. I was not surprised to find myself in a completely different place; however, I was shocked by the sheer magnitude of what lay ahead of me. I stumbled away from the door, eyes wide and unblinking as I soaked in all of my surroundings. I could _never_ have designed something this thorough!

Amidst the luster of star-struck skies, a single, wide street opened out onto a grand city. The lights of streetlamps hung out from the sides of tall buildings made two opalescent lines that drew on beyond the point of division, where the two rows merged into one, and faded into the distance. The strafing glare of lamps and distant streak of fluorescents illuminated the street beneath. The palette that painted the scene was one of brisk difference, from gloomy washes of mottled shadows to bright tones too vibrant to look upon. It was wonderful, it was so vivacious and full of life, but yet so frigid, so solemn. Nothing moved save the long arms of the spotlights lazily tracing the sky, and the slowly, steady panorama as I walked amidst the radiance and the mire, my shadow dragging wearily on the roadbed beneath my feet.

The wind stirred behind me; I looked over my shoulder, and noticed NiGHTS following me, eyes glowing like lanterns in the half-light. The jester's head was inclined towards the heavens, scanning the buildings that surrounded us from every corner.

She looked back down at me; her eyes sparkled as she smiled. "You like this place?"

"It's wonderful," I said, taking a second look around the place, a second measure of its intoxicating power. "So many lights and shadows… this place is absolutely stunning."

NiGHTS crossed her arms, casting a disinterested look about the place. "Well, at least one of us enjoys it."

I frowned. "What, you don't? This place is an absolute gothic masterpiece!"

The jester shrugged. "It doesn't seem all that interesting to me; seriously, what can you DO around here?"

"Admire the scenery," I replied.

NiGHTS scowled. "That's no fun at all! C'mon, let's go find something fun to do!" She grabbed for my arm again, but I sharply sidestepped, evading her effort.

"You don't need to be physically dragging me around all the time," I replied stiffly.

"Yes, I do," she replied sharply, "Because if you stay in one place for too long you start attracting Nightmaren, and then you might get hurt and be Awakened, or have your last Ideya swiped and be consumed by the shadows…"

I sighed. "I suppose that _would_ be a problem, then… so, what do you expect to do, trace my footsteps all night long?"

NiGHTS suddenly beamed, snapping her fingers. "That's _right_! I almost _completely_ forgot the most fun thing of all!" The jester giggled. "The most important thing of all a Visitor needs to know about… Dualizing!"

"Dualizing?" I asked, perplexed.

"Dualizing," NiGHTS repeated. She looped around me, crossing to my other side. "It's the only way of keeping you safe, and the most fun way of doing it too!"

"But what exactly _is_ it?" I asked. "Some kind of cloning process?"

NiGHTS whirled around me again, this time stopping directly in front of me, outstretching a hand. "It's easier to show you than tell you. Take my hand."

I gave her a questioning look. Obviously, this was going to be quite interesting, as I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. I shrugged, and then reached for the jester's outstretched hand.

It felt like NiGHTS had whipped me into the air by the arm, whirled around wildly in a circle so quickly my vision counter-rotated for a few seconds afterwards. It was only after I attempt to protest that I realized two things, one after the other—NiGHTS was nowhere to be seen, and I was levitating prominently in the air. I balked, but only succeeded in tumbling backwards, falling towards the ground—

But not quite making contact. It felt like someone seized my legs and wrenched them upright again, and I sprang back up to a standing position. NiGHTS' laughter rattled around in the back of my head, and it wasn't my memory recalling it!

I would have liked to have bristled and launched a rebuke, but my feet slipped in midair, and I tumbled sideways. I spun around for a few heart-pounding moments before managing to grab a streetlamp for support. NiGHTS' laughter continued, more uproariously than before, as though the jester was speaking from somewhere inside me. _"You really are helpless, aren't you?_"

I ignored the voice; anyone who mocks me is not worth me listening to. Clinging to the streetlamp and wriggling around a little, I very quickly figured out exactly where the problem came from. Rather than my feet resting on a solid surface, and the weight of my body pressing them down in place, it seemed that gravity itself had been rendered irrelevant. My body was for all practical purposes weightless. Yet I was not floating around, even though I felt absolutely no weight on my body. A curious thought popped into my head— I pulled myself up against the lamppost, twisted myself around and tested my theory. Sure enough, I spun around like a gyroscope until I released it, where I shot off across the street. Without gravity to pull me down, it wouldn't take much to stay airborne, possibly indefinitely. Unfortunately, the conundrum of this was the lack of any real stopping mechanism, and the side of the building I had flung myself towards looked awfully hard—

Once again, an unseen force seized control of my legs, this time kicking my feet forwards. There was a sudden backwards force, and I stopped right before I plastered myself against the wall. I glared at the building, trying to see what had stopped it. That's when I noticed it… this was NOT my body!

It seemed quite obvious, actually. NiGHTS had sucked me into her form; it would explain why I could move so differently, and also the constant, and quite irritating, laughing that was echoing nearly nonstop from somewhere in the rear of my mind. So _that's_ what Dualizing was…

_"So, you get it?_" NiGHTS asked from within. _"Isn't it FUN?_"

I frowned. "I find trouble seeing what part of losing complete control of any means of locomotion is 'fun'."

NiGHTS sighed; her voice switched from the back of my head to my ear, this time much closer. "You are so BORING!"

I turned to my left, and nearly rammed into one of the jester's bright blue eyes. Doing a quick double-take, I noticed how she and I appeared to only be 'partially' merged right now, as her form appeared ghostlike superimposed about a foot off-center off of mine. Or was it the other way; was I the phantom form? I decided to ignore the obviously rhetorical question and deal with the more pressing issue, NiGHTS' complete abandon towards the idea of 'personal space'; being locked in at close quarters with a complete stranger wasn't nearly as disturbing as having her outlandish features and obnoxious attitudes about half an inch from one's nose.

"Being 'boring' is a hell of a lot nicer than being 'unconscious' or 'dead'," I retorted sharply, crossing my arms. NiGHTS did the same; paying attention to her movements, we did seem to be moving mostly in sync, although whether that was her playing along or some sort of physical relevance I could not tell. Considering how she had 'helped' me fly earlier, it was likely a combination of the two.

NiGHTS gave me another of her sinister smirks. "Oh, but where's the _challenge_?"

I started a response, just as NiGHTS' form vanished from beside me. "Why would I want a—"

NiGHTS grabbed control of my entire body and _hurled_ it down the street. As the lights tore by my cone of vision like plasma bolts my horrified squeaks (I could hardly do anything more!) blended in with her joyous laughter. I couldn't understand how _anyone_ could enjoy going this fast, if you so much as brushed into anything your entire body would smash pancake flat. Although, this was a laser-straight, twenty-foot-wide section of street, with no obstructions, tight curves or even an obvious endpoint (the horizon never got any nearer, even though we were flying fast enough to reduce my vision to a narrow forwards cone surrounded by an unintelligible blur). And we were going way too fast, so fast, but maybe not _that_ fast, and actually, it might be nice to go a little _faster_, this wasn't nearly fast enough, come on, and where was the _challenge_…

My feet hit the asphalt hard, and I fell right to my knees, and then flat on the ground. My heart was hammering in my chest as I regained my bearings; NiGHTS hovered next to me, reclined backwards in midair, one leg thrown casually over the other. I was so drained I hardly even noticed her there. I just lay nearly upon the ground, questions, emotions and observations ricocheting around the inside of my head. What happened back there?—I kind of liked that, it's a lot easier than driving a car—did I lose complete control of myself?—what the hell was I thinking… what _was_ I thinking?

I turned to face NiGHTS, who was wearing her sly smile like a mark of honor across her face. "What… just… _happened_?" I demanded, nearly breathlessly.

"You Dualized with me," NiGHTS said. "Quite completely, might I add. You were putting up a really strong fight first, refusing to fully meld, but I know a few things about Visitors, and how much they love speed... you all give in after a while."

"Fully meld…" I paused, the gears in my head suddenly jamming sideways as I came to a realization. "You… possessed my MIND?" I exclaimed. "Okay, okay, shoving my body around is one thing, and I can't honestly say I find it unpleasant, but taking over my free spirit?" I exhaled sharply, half-sighing, half-moaning. "That's about as decent as pulling me out of bed asleep and dragging me across the state without me knowing it…"

NiGHTS reached out and poked me in the forehead, causing me to recoil slightly. "Technically, I _am_." My rather perplexed expression (it took a moment for the meaning to sink in) caused her once more to break out into raucous laughter.

"That's IT!" I wrenched myself up off the ground and hopped back up to my feet. "You are, with no exceptions, the _rudest_ person I have _ever_ had the displeasure of meeting!"

NiGHTS rolled over lazily, turning a bemused eye in my direction. "Didn't you just admit you 'enjoyed' the experience?"

I was not amused at her response. "That does not mean it was with my consent," I retorted. "A chronic cigarette smoker cannot stop himself from smoking, even though he knows he is killing himself by doing it, and often tells others how wrong he is! This is no different!"

NiGHTS yawned, sat up, and casually responded. "Most Visitors don't take it so personally," she noted. "They just take it as a gift, and usually thank me profusely for bringing them along."

Snorting as though my breath was afire, I deftly turned away from NiGHTS. I emitted an aggravated sigh. The jester had a point; this was slightly different from my rather graphic simile, notably as there were no extraneous implications other than the slight violation of my sanctity of mind. Or as long as we didn't have a serious disagreement and NiGHTS decided to play a little under the table with it… hopefully, it would never come to that. I always play for keeps, and I would never hesitate to use such underhanded tactics myself if necessary, but I had no desire to see my own efforts reciprocated, particularly not by the likes of NiGHTS.

I shook my head and turned back around, facing NiGHTS' all-too-knowing gaze. "Okay, I'll admit it. I did enjoy the experience, and I would willingly choose to do it again."

NiGHTS cleared her throat, giving me an expectant stare. "And?"

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you, NiGHTS," I said flatly.

The jester beamed, looking very self-satisfied. "That will suffice as an apology, and you are very…" The brightness fell from her face, and her eyes fixated somewhere in the distance.

"Something wrong?" I inquired, following her gaze. I didn't see anything, although my eyes were probably not quite as sharp as her's, hence my spectacles.

NiGHTS' response was soft, and edged with concern. "I see Nightmaren gathering farther out... we should probably keep moving."

"Nightmaren?" I contemplated for a moment. "How big are they?"

NiGHTS waved a hand in the air. "Oh, probably about half your size, with a full tenth the brainpower… not very threatening by themselves."

My video-gamer instincts laughed heartily, and roared for a challenge, and then my sense of reason reminded me that I, unlike the characters of my stories, have no combat training or weapons of any sort, and would probably get my posterior handed to me by _any_ of them. It does indeed suck being a boring old mortal. Just out of spite, I looked around the street corner, looking for the handout weapon that every decent hero grabs before he starts his first heroic deeds… I mean, these were _my_ dreams after all, there had to be a few somewhere!

Just as my rationale began chiding me for my stupidity, a metallic gleam caught my eye. I grinned; there, stuck into the side of a building, was a large silver sword that the Emperor himself would be proud of. I immediately made a beeline for it. Finally, SOMEBODY throws me a bone!

Just before I set my hands on it and wrenched it off the side of the building, though, the sword suddenly quivered. I watched in mounting surprise as it began to change color to red and black. I eyed the weapon for a moment, and then drew back, suddenly horrified. It was the classic 'enemy-dressed-as-useful-implement' gag, and I'd just fallen for it. "Oh, _shiiiiii_—"

The sword tore itself from my grasp and lunged at me. I jumped aside with a yelp, and it very narrowly missed me. The sword stood up on its hilt, displaying a large engraved eye right on the crosspiece of its hilt. Of course it did—the Eye was the Dark One's symbol. How very ironic, then. I had made the Dark One myself, and now, one of his minions was going to cause my very untimely demise…

The sword turned end over end and went for a second run. NiGHTS was nowhere to be seen, and the demon-sword had already launched itself at me. I screamed (rather loudly) and hid my face behind my arms—I was no Goldeye, I couldn't parry something that fast!—expecting to be impaled and die a rather gruesome death. I didn't scream for mercy, or for help, though. I never ask for help, never in so many words.

An earsplitting _CRACK_ tremored the air around me; I instinctively sheltered my ears with my hands. The sword burst apart at the middle, hilt and blade dramatically parting company in a burst of gleaming darkmatter. I looked over towards the source of the horrendous racket. My eyes did not need to see to know who it was—I recognized a gunshot when I heard one, amplified to a cannon's shot at such close quarters, and my heart knew before my head did who had caused it. I only knew one man who could perform such a shot, someone I knew better than anyone else, and I could only stand in shock seeing him before my very living eyes…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three: Recognition

Twirling his Creylon .45-caliber semi-automatic in his hand, Grand Admiral Silver Crescent emitted a wistful whistle, staring at me with his burning blue eyes. He was dressed in his full military uniform, a suit of Everstone armor clad in Red Oak fashion (a parody of the Hervalen race he took after in heart if not species), a series of round plates of Red Oak wood applied over every major part of his person, from his great wooden-sheathed breastplate to his pauldrons, all the way to the grieves protecting his shins. The dull green fabric of the heat-retaining padding he wore as an under layer of the armor peeked out from the joints of the armor.

Docking the weapon in one of the black holsters at his side, the admiral stepped forwards. The sword strapped to his side rocked around in its sheath, making a muffled clank as it clattered against the side plate covering his left hip. Even for all his grandeur, Silver Crescent was actually not very tall (I was easily half a foot taller), and although the armor exaggerated most of his contour, he was still quite thin, unhealthily so. No one would believe this man was the Grand Admiral were he not in his armor, of course, as he had not aged past his early teens. I knew some of the reasons why. He had stopped aging right as he entered his first growth spurt due to a medical condition that would have left him dead in months were it not for intervention. As a matter of fact, I knew more than anyone else, certainly as much as him. After all, had I not _created_ him, the protagonist of my stories, a shadow of my own paltry image?

I found my voice, although it was not easy; how does one speak to those one usually speaks for? "What… are you doing here?"

We stood for a moment, eyes locked. It was like I had been isolated, cut off from everything else. It seemed like eternity before Silver Crescent, blood of my spirit, child of my imaginings, chuckled and gave a soft response, his calm voice like a northern spring. "In so many words, you called."

Just as it had come, the moment was gone, smashed to a thousand pieces like a pane of glass; the sharp cry (or should I say 'grating snarl') of the present summoning me back. I whirled around to the side and nearly fell backwards. The Nightmaren had snuck up on us, it would seem, and they weren't looking for autographs!

NiGHTS had called them 'Nightmaren', but I had no doubt in my mind that this thing that sprawled out before me, hissing like a cobra, was no mere creature of little children's bad dreams. It was humanoid in form, impish and squat in posture, and terrifying in form, clad from head to toe in black and crimson armor, although its 'armor' looked more like bits of scrap metal hastily assembled with a nailgun than anything else. A horizontal slash in its head-armor revealed a single glowing red light, like an ember from the fires of hell. It was not armed, but its misshapen hands bore bent claws, talons more than fingers, crude implements by anyone's standards but certainly enviable from the viewpoint of someone completely without a weapon themselves, in this case, myself. It lunged forwards, slashing out with its talon-hands.

I jumped aside with a yelp, narrowly evading the creature. It swung again, and this time, managed to catch me in the arm. Its claws were apparently blunter than they looked, as the edge didn't even penetrate my sweatshirt. The force of the blow knocked me around, though, and it reared back for a quick slash at my face, which was not nearly so well protected…

There was a brilliant flash of gold as Silver Crescent cleaved the beast clear in two with his slim longsword, its bright Everstone blade rending its armor with ease. Another hiss rang out from behind me; I turned around, and sure enough, there were more, two of the ones I was now so acquainted with, one of which clutched a wicked-looking black hatchet in its clawed grasp. Both of them lunged forwards, glowing eyes set solely on me. I screamed and recoiled, covering my face.

Silver Crescent slashed at the two beasts, cutting down the first of the two. The second ducked around his blade and cleaved at me with its hatchet; I swiveled sideways and evaded the blow. The admiral thrashed backwards and struck it with the hilt of his sword, sending it stumbling backwards. He then moved forwards, shoving me out of the way, and stabbed at the creature. It lashed out with its hatchet, but missed. Silver Crescent whacked it again and then turned his sword over, slashing it clear in half. As its body crumbled to dust, it emitted a final snarl, and hurled the hatchet at me, watching in awe a few paces away. I yelped.

Silver Crescent moved swiftly to his right, catching the hatchet on his shoulder. It bounced right off of his pauldron and into the air, barely leaving a scratch.

I was billowing like a steam engine, my heart a throbbing piston in my chest. The admiral hardly looked shaken in the least, and casually sheathed his sword. "Anything broken?"

I shook my head. "No, I think I'm all right… what _were_ those things?"

Silver Crescent gave me an odd look over the rim of his spectacles. "How about you tell me that? You made them just as surely as you made me, you know just as much if not _more_ than I do."

I thought about it for a moment. The answer hit me like a stack of bricks. Of course I knew what they were. What an idiot I was being, even needing to be reminded of the fact! "Those were demons," I said thoughtfully. "Shadows, Frights, whatever I've been calling them lately… they're the cronies of the Dark One. Judging by their poor issue of armament, probably Level Ones and Twos…" I made a face. "So I just nearly got my backside handed to me by a freaking Level One. Such competence I display…"

Silver Crescent shrugged. "Level Ones are just as fatal as Level Elevens if you have no experience fighting them, it's all a matter of discipline and how much it takes to rattle you. Besides, think about it—was that Fright actually successful harming you?"

"It… wasn't," I admitted. "It couldn't even penetrate my sweatshirt…"

"You do realize _why_, right?"

I considered for a moment. "Because the Dark One shirks with arming his less-valuable minions?" I offered.

The admiral rolled his eyes. "_Shamerdes," _he muttered to himself. "Even _he_ hasn't figured it all out yet…"

I suddenly recalled my previous companion, NiGHTS, who had apparently vanished. "Hey, did you see where NiGHTS went?"

"NiGHTS?" Silver Crescent frowned. "The little violet jester? Oh, I am not sure myself, the fellow was there, and then not. It's probably for the better, though, Forerunners do tend to try my patience, it's only in their nature..."

"Forerunner?" I asked. "Gee, how the hell do you know all this stuff even I don't yet?"

Silver Crescent smiled mysteriously. "Because you think I ought to, of course."

I opened my mouth to give another frustrated response, but paused. That was true; the Admiral often was the guy in the know in my stories… had I not explicitly stated that he was nearly three times as intelligent as the average human was? Why should he NOT know everything? I just write his roles, I don't live his life. Though sometimes I wish I did…

"So, may I presume this is your Nightopia?" The admiral glanced around, his sharp sapphire eyes scrutinizing his surroundings. "Nice Art Deco-Gothic touch, I see."

"Yeah, I like it," I mentioned. "I'm not sure exactly why I got this one, but I'm not sorry I didn't…"

"Of course you aren't, these are your dreams, inclining that they are mostly 'pleasant'." Silver Crescent chuckled. He began strolling casually down the middle of the street; I matched his pace, and he continued speaking. "Curious that you should get the Midnight Casino like I do. Or, perhaps _because_ I do? A perplexing question to be sure. The Dream Realm keeps well its secrets."

"Midnight _casino_? Where's the casino part?"

The admiral inclined his head, eyes riveted straight ahead. "Oh, it's farther in that direction, I believe. You'll know when you see it, the tables are hard to miss."

"Sounds pretty cool. Are we going to go check it out?"

"Intriguing it might be, but it is _crawling_ in Frights," Silver Crescent warned. "And no, we're not going there. You may be, but, well, I have some pressing matters to attend to elsewhere…"

"You're leaving?" I asked. "You just got here, why the hurry?"

The admiral gave me a sad smile. "You _know_ how I am. My secondary function, outside of main character, is a character of convenience—I'm always showing up just when I'm needed, and then dropping back out for a while. If you need me, I will be there, but until then, it is not _my_ tale to be cluttering, is it now?" He oscillated his head, casting a piercing glare across the sidestreets as we passed a street corner. "I want to find out where all these Frights are coming from, and see if I can stop them from getting in. Then we can focus our efforts on eliminating the remaining ones, and purging the Dark One's presence from this place."

He paused in the middle of the street, turning to face me. "Farewell, Narrator; may the stars light your path."Silver Crescent vanished in his customary burst of light, Power-Jumping away before I could make a rebuttal.

Narrator… did he call me Narrator? I frowned. It was a curious name for sure, but… it _did_ make sense, thinking about it. That's exactly who I was. I watched the story, fed it, moved it onwards, and recorded all I saw. It was a title that befitted me as much as Professor did. Silver Crescent had also used the traditional parting phrase of the Ancient Empire, a statement of passing used with one's respected peers. Did that mean he respected me? It was hard to think that Silver Crescent, Grand Admiral of the largest military force of the Terrene, Lord of Red Oak, would have any reason to look in any bright light upon the likes of _me_. After all, what had I done that would be notable? I had created him; perhaps, that was notable enough, then? Wretched creator complex—I neither was, nor am, nor ever will be a deity, and would be loathe to be compared to such lofty beings!

There was a gust of wind at my back; I swiveled around, and nearly went blind from the bright flash of NiGHTS' streamer. The jester's obnoxiously boisterous voice trilled out from over my shoulder and the all-too-familiar tug on my arm as she began animatedly towing me around the street. "You won't BELIEVE what I just found! C'mon, c'mon, let's go check it out!"

I once again suffered myself to wrenching myself from NiGHTS' grasp. "For the love of god, NiGHTS, you don't NEED to drag me around!"

NiGHTS whirled back around, bubbling as brightly as ever. "I found the awesomest place ever! You're gonna love it!" The jester leaned forwards, gracefully extending a hand. "C'mon, let's go check it out!"

"Why would I be so interested in this place you speak of?" I asked cautiously, hesitant to expose myself to the travesty of person NiGHTS advertised.

"_Trust_ me," she assured. "When have I led you wrong?"

I paused, unsure of the choice ahead. NiGHTS caught my wary gaze, and gave me a friendly smile and a nod. I ducked my eyes away, and heaved a long sigh. "Alright. Let's check this 'fun' place out." I took the jester's hand. NiGHTS' chiming laughter rang in my head as we bolted off down a sidestreet, not a care in the world for how far we wandered.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four: Wages of Heart

When we finally parted body and soul, I felt so clumsy on two legs that I nearly fell over, shocked by the sudden demand of gravity, tearing me towards the grass beneath. But like a sailor stepping back aboard a ship, it was but a moment before my muscles recalled what they had been so carefully taught, and I arose once again, burdened but not shackled by the mass of my presence.

Motion, color and form all exploded in front of me, hard to look upon it, but manageable to squint. As my eyes adjusted to the change in light, I could make out some recognizable features. If the city was cold and Victorian, then this place, perhaps, was the bleak gloss of the ultramodern. Silver Crescent's words, it seemed, would haunt me yet. It seemed indeed a great casino of sorts; slots, card tables, pool and electronic games beyond number, all mashed together into a melee of motion and light, throbbing, urging, _screaming_ outwards, for use, for attention. My eyes dashed from side to side, my sight echoed from one thing to another. I twisted myself away from the inferno, the twisted hell of screaming color, and back towards the steady consistency of the city behind me.

NiGHTS was bouncing around in midair, bursting with excitement—not the scene I was hoping to see! "Isn't it _great_? It looks like so much _fun_! I can't _wait_ to get in there!"

"I certainly _can_," I retorted sharply.

"Oh, come _on_!" NiGHTS tugged at my shoulder, a gesture slightly more polite than usual, but still not much more desirable. "You can't honestly not want to check this place out!"

"I'm very sorry to tell you, NiGHTS, but I think you are out of your freaking_ mind_," I responded, glaring at her. "Just _looking_ at that place makes me feel violently ill! I'd rather stay as far away as possible!"

"You won't know until you _try_ it," NiGHTS insisted. "Please? It'll be _awesome_!"

I shook my head. "No, no, no, _no_. I don't need a closer glance to start getting claustrophobic."

Finally, NiGHTS lost her stupid smile—although the flat look she was giving wasn't any more pleasant to receive. "You are the most boring Visitor I have ever met, do you know that?"

I smiled coldly. "You're not the first person to have said that to me."

NiGHTS sighed, and I thought she was going to get flustered and concede defeat. However, she donned her dangerous smirk again. "I don't LIKE boring people," she said slyly, leaning forwards threateningly. "They make me cranky. And when I get cranky, I get _mean_. So, how about we make a deal? I'll bet my hat that I can crush your puny Visitor body quicker than you can say 'Paraloop'. What wager are _you_ making?"

The jester's eyes gleamed; my arms locked in their sockets, and a flash of whitehot fright shot down my spine. I had a sudden revelation that whatever leverage I had previously possessed had just been interrupted, negated and prevented, _before_ I had played down my enhancements, or even drawn from the card deck.

This menacing creature that had once been merry little NiGHTS continued. "We can explore the nice shiny place over there, or I can entertain myself _here_. My hat says that you can't get farther than two paces away before I make contact. What do _you_ say, huh?"

I quailed in front of NiGHTS. It would be easier to try to escape than argue. Or try fighting. But what could I do? I never took swings at _anyone_, not even my worst of enemies, mankind spent far too many millions of years evolving hands and opposable thumbs to misuse them in such ways. I wasn't Silver Crescent, hell, I wasn't even his apprentice Kaerie, although I'd swap my specs for the admiral's sword, or one of his pistols, right about now, give that jester a good run for her money…

I broke. "Alright, alright, I'll come along!"

All malice vanished like a strike of lightning; NiGHTS trilled a response. "Woohoo! I KNEW you'd come through for me!"

"Flying through a virtual hell could be considered preferable to visiting the _actual_ one," I muttered, giving her a scathing glare. As usual, the jester was oblivious to my commentary, and seemed only to care that I took her hand when offered. To NiGHTS, the ends always justified the means—three seconds later I couldn't say any less, so who cared?

NiGHTS spoke into my ear. _"Hopefully you've learned how to control yourself a little better by now, right?_"

I smiled. "I don't need the tutorial. I vote we do a loop of the place first, how about you?"

"_Sounds cool._"

Flying with NiGHTS… it wasn't flying like you might imagine. You see, it was less of 'keeping airborne', and more of 'showing off'. In that way, it was more of a dance, a playful whirl in the sky. Imagine the thrill of flying an airplane, and then multiply it by ten; you are completely _free_, and limitless, with no fuel or timetable to limit you, no runways or control towers to command you, no one to influence you except one other person, someone just as daring, just as thrilled as you are, wanting and doing and thinking the same things as you. Loops, cartwheels, zigzags, you name it, you've done it, all within the past thirty seconds, not that you care a whit about counting them, only about doing one better, one _more_. We dove around towers, slid through gaps, whirled past signs, dodged swinging arms. It was exhilarating, wind-tearing, edge-of-your-seat _fun_, and I could have gone on forever…

Something slammed into me from the side, knifing through me like a razorblade. I screamed in pain, and then in horror; I suddenly found myself about a hundred feet in the air, freefalling like a rock. The ground rushed up to me, the anvil of my demise—

Something rigid but supportive buffered my fall, bouncing me back onto my feet. I caught myself against a wall blazing with green lights, and tried to twist around. My body knifed with pain as a response; I crumpled down off my feet, my hands falling to my sides. A broken javelin hilt protruded from my side, a short length of bitter-black wood, pale white blade buried halfway down. It burned terribly, and I convulsed; was it pain of my body, or the agony of my spirit, howling from shocking exposure to the hard blade of reality? I did not know, but it was consuming, tearing away at me, darkmatter ripping away at the fabric of life and mind. The world grew black around me, and I could see it fading to nothingness, as the earth swallowed me, mocking my pathetic existence.

A strong hand grabbed me, and ducked to my side, and the broken haft. My insides filled with snow; I thrashed around wildly, trying to regain heat. The air in my lungs froze, and I was choking, smothering under the cutting embrace of ice…

The hand pressed down upon me, right on my neck. Like a furnace breathing flame, the ice faded away, melting under the intense heat of the hand. The world grew back in around me as the feeling receded. My eyes refocused, and I snapped back to reality.

I found myself staring into a great iron helm, a blue afterglow rimming the inside of its eye slit. The hand that rested supportively on my shoulder was a heavy mail-backed gauntlet, floating as though with purpose but disembodied. The figure to which the helmet was attached had a heavy build, bundled in a heavy cloak of mottled color.

The creature's voice boomed inside my head. _Can you stand?_

I attempted to pull myself up, but was greeted by a thrust of ice. I buckled over, frigid water refilling my interior, but the creature seized my shoulder again, forcing in another impulse of heat, flushing out the ice. _Don't push yourself, the Dark One's Hand is still upon you._

A second hand reached around my back, and almost effortlessly, the creature's disembodied appendages lifted me up and place me back on my feet. I staggered and nearly fell over; once again, he took me by the shoulders, holding me steady. The feeling slowly passed, and I felt normal again.

I looked nervously into the creature's face, or what I could see of it; was that glow the gleam of eyes, or just my imagination? "Who are you?"

He chuckled softly. _Do you not know me? You may not be one of the Seeing, but surely you have heard of me, Narrator._

I considered for a moment; had I made such a creature, with such power and heavy wraps? Was this design of my hands, or had I borrowed it from somewhere? My mind could concoct some very crazy stuff on a whim…

With a soft rap, the creature pulled out a long ashen staff and thrust it against the ground. A brilliant sapphire gem sat in a gilded housing atop the staff's head, glowing with the life of the Power within.

The cue was more than enough; I gave my memory far too much credit! "You're Dreyer, the Lucian healer," I said hesitantly. "But… you look a little different…"

The Lucian chuckled. _We of the Luca are not bound as you humans are to one form, nor to another. We appear only as we want to, and as we are wanted we appear. _

As we are wanted we appear… had Silver Crescent not said the same thing? "So… did I summon you?"

Dreyer looked at me, the glow within his hollow helm intensifying. _You are the Creator; you give us life, but we are only your shadows, your haunts, the streams and rivers from the great sea. We know not your answers, but only your questions. We know but the way, not where it may lead. That is why we are with you—we seek the same from you, the Creator, for surely you of all people might know._

I gave him an odd look. "I'm not a god, Dreyer, I don't know everything!"

_You don't have to. You must only know enough._ Dreyer turned and began walking away.

"Hey, where are you going? I asked.

_You do not need me so badly here as elsewhere. I have things at hand._

Things at hand? Silver Crescent had given the same excuse, and quite frankly, it didn't sound quite so reasonable the second time around. "Things at hand? Like what?"

Dreyer did not turn, but kept walking through the narrow corridor, the bright lights of the city surrounding him lost in the shadows of his robes. _This place is not at all safe for you as it is; the Frights are many, and they shall only be more should I not see to it that they are stopped._

"WAIT!" I shouted, walking briskly after him. "You're a top-notch Healer, but you never waste your valuable Power attacking if you can avoid it! Wouldn't it be simpler just to follow me around?"

Dreyer's response was cold and short. _You are slow and attract Frights like a magnet, and I would be endlessly mending your wounds. That would be a far worse waste._

I was losing ground; Lucians could walk fast when they so desired, and they could run even faster. "So you're gonna let me DIE out here?"

_You are quite smart. I am sure you can find some clever way out. Farewell, Narrator._ Dreyer vanished with a flick of his cape, before I could reply.

"DREYER!" I wanted him to come back, to guard me in this foreign place of blinding lights and color, but I could not. I could not demand that he protect me; how would that be fair, forcing the strong to carry the weak? Dreyer had better things to do. No, I was very low on the list—after all, I was simply the Narrator, the teller of the story, the one who accounted what he saw. The icy feeling returned, but this time, I knew why—it was _despair_ clawing at my insides, despair that I was so helpless, so forsaken, so wretchedly _useless._ I could not even control the worlds of my own making, much less the one I partook of! What worth was I to the Waking World, if I was nothing to this one?

My eyes were burning; I leaned against a wall, pulled off my glasses, and sobbed. I was a pitiful sight, but that was how I _felt_, how I _was._ Amidst the city of light, the screaming promises of fame and fortune, I was but one small speck of invisible agony, silent and forgotten to the rest of existence. The ice closed in, swelling drifts against a wind-battered hulk, squeezing and crushing, savoring the strain and moan of bleak timbers slowly fracturing, tearing themselves apart in their resistance. I didn't care, didn't want to fight, didn't want to _live_—I wanted to leave this place, to escape this sacrilege of reality, be forgotten and forget it all, become the nothing I so crudely parodied. The world around me closed away, the lights faded; the colors became grim and dark. And there was nothing, nothing but the anguish of forgotten ills, things too gloomy to be recalled, heart too cold to feel.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five: Renaissance

_How could this have been? Tell me, tell me again, I do not believe it. How could ANYONE forfeit their Ideya like that? Only fear can drive out an Ideya, and lest these old feathers mislead me, did I not hear you say he was completely alone, without the least among Nightmaren to haunt him?_

_Not fear, my friend, not fear alone. Fear is a strong emotion, one of the strongest, but there are but two stronger. Despair is mightier than fear, for it attacks all parts of the body. He was without a Courage Ideya, was he not? The Courage Ideya insulates Visitors against despair, against those levels of shock. A Knowledge Ideya is powerful—I should know, being the product of one—but only in certain circumstances, as long as the Visitor can still call upon it. The soul corrodes without Courage, and eventually falls apart at the seams._

_But then… ah, the question answers itself. This Visitor's Knowledge Ideya is stronger than most, is it not?_

_Oh, by a fair margin. Ideya may look alike to the casual observer, but some are stronger than others. Usually only those with Courage Ideyas, and fairly strong ones at that, ever make it to Nightopia. But the Visitor's Knowledge Ideya was just so strong, he used it as a crutch to cover for his weak Courage Ideya. That's my theory, anyways._

_As good as any I have ever heard. One further point, though. You speculated two superiors to fear, did you not? What were they?_

_Beyond despair, comes the counterpart to both. It is the very source of Courage, and feeds the Courage Ideya with its radiant fire. Love is what drives all Visitors—love of adventure, love of life, love of each other, or in the case of Narrator, love of creation. The sorrows of the Waking World destroyed him; his passion for expression, and for his creations, brought him back. In effect, it is a great strength, as he never runs out of drive. _

_Does it not make a weakness, though? The Lord of Nightmares clearly knows how to exploit him; by making the Visitor believe he had lost control of his world, he nearly killed him!_

_Yes, that is the paradox-- it was not by the Dark One's hands this ill deed was wrought. In all my heart, I do care after Narrator, but I just had to test, just had to know, if that was it. I feel rather miserable myself about the whole affair—is it not the Dark One's way to test one's friends to the breaking, and watch them fall to pieces?_

_Yes, but it is far against him to make amends. I think the Visitor shall soon see that you have done him a great favor; he is a Creator by nature, very much so, and you may as well have stirred it from within him. _

_I concur with you on that point. I only hope that I have not caused him too much hardship, he pushes himself far too much as it is, without me or anyone else driving him…_

_Look, he is coming back around… the Creator stirs from his slumber!_

I pulled myself up, eyes blearily shuttering open and closed. It seemed to take all my strength just to hold them open. What time was it? I searched for the fuzzy red glow of my alarm clock, to decipher some semblance of numbers from its unfocused shake…

I noticed two things, in very short succession. The first was that I was wearing my glasses, and could see just as clearly as usual. The second was Silver Crescent, crouched down next to my right shoulder and giving me a questioning look. The real world had suddenly taken a turn for the indomitably awesome… or, the less-favorable alternative, I was still in the Dream Realm. Judging by the familiar rows of lamps and gothic buildings, I was.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns," the admiral stated, his expression changing to one of faint amusement. "We'd have left you for dead hours ago if it wasn't for me sensing out your aura…"

"Hours? What did I miss?"

"A lot of people fretting over you and talking about how no Visitor had ever died so dramatically before," Silver Crescent said flatly. "You are either a very smart man, or a very lucky bastard."

I chuckled dryly. "I think the latter."

Silver Crescent emitted a noncommittal grumble. "Come on, we have a few odds and ends to discuss." He paused, eyes glancing over my person. "Anything broken or otherwise impaired?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

"All right then." The Grand Admiral pulled me up to my feet. He did not seem thwarted in the least by my loftier height, probably because he was used to people who were taller, stronger, and of course bigger than him. Silver Crescent was quite tall by Hervalen standards (who constituted an eighty percent majority of his adopted homeplanet), and he had far more important things to be concerned with anyways. The admiral began strolling leisurely down the street, and I followed him, matching his pace. "Our first topic of discussion… do you have any idea what you just _did_?"

"Woke up?" I offered.

Silver Crescent rolled his eyes. "To the contrary, my friend, that was the result, but not the cause, of it. You are aware of what you did when you 'fell asleep', correct?"

I frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't really know…"

"Allow me to fill you in, then. You forfeited your Knowledge Ideya and nearly tore the entirety of your Dream Realm to shreds!"

The admiral's eyes flared, and for a moment, they glowered with a cold light. It was only for a moment, though, and his eyes returned to their normal, more pleasant glitter. "I would be much more upset about this, though, if you had not somehow recalled the Ideya to you and restored the stability of Nightopia before any lasting damage could have been incurred. My main concern now is that the Dark One could have seen something he oughtn't, and might have decided some scheme to warp his discovery to his own vile uses."

I made a face. "Since I'm Narrator, and technically the one who controls this 'story', wouldn't he be scheming against me _already_?"

Silver Crescent shrugged. "I would not put that past him; for all we know, he was too involved in his plotting to really notice anything, and might have overlooked the whole incident. The Dark One may claim otherwise, but he can see but one place at any one given time, and he might as well have been busy with other things. However, I personally would consider the Dark One second to the threat you have so displayed to me. If the Dark One should make war upon us, then we shall fight back, but should you release your Ideya again…" He sighed, crossing his arms. "There can be no hope."

"I didn't release my Ideya," I protested. "Why would I want to?"

Silver Crescent gave me another hard look. "You lost the will to carry on, correct? You wanted to slip away, to die? That icy feeling is not your core heat dropping, my friend, it is your Ideya slipping away from you. You lost sight of your priorities, you lost hope, and after that you lost just about everything else. This is why so many of the Visitors have Courage Ideya rather than any of the others—they are more stable than you are, and more capable of absorbing the shocks and hard nudges of the Dream Realm."

He stopped, looking around the streetcorner we had just entered. "Well, he _said_ he would be back momentarily… of course, just because you have a watch handy doesn't mean you don't still lose track of time here. As a subsector of what could be considered the fifth dimension, time is not quite as meaningful here as other places."

"So you're leaving again," I remarked, crossing my arms. "Changing the guard?"

Silver Crescent shook his head sadly. "Always assume the worst, my friend, and you live a lie."

"So you're staying around, or what?"

The admiral shrugged. "I shall do what is necessary. I have no intention of leaving you alone here, though, at least not until I am confident you won't be killing yourself again."

I glanced down at my feet. I would have liked to rebuke him for such commentary, but he possessed a strong point—I could not trust _myself_ on that account, so how could he?

There was a gust of wind from behind me; I looked over my shoulder to be greeted by an all-too-familiar violet jester, and her awkwardly cheerful voice. "Heya!"

For once, I felt relieved to see NiGHTS—she was as oblivious to the more serious happenstances as always, and it was nice to be around someone who was genuinely happy. "Where have you _been_?" I inquired.

NiGHTS flew right around me, casting a smug expression towards me as she did. "Looking for _you_, that's what. I was worried something mighta happened to you, but now that you're alright, let's get back to business!"

Silver Crescent interjected before I could muster my own response. "Excuse me, NiGHTS? Do you have any _inkling_ what has gone on while _you_ have been frolicking around?"

NiGHTS shrugged. "Don't know, don't really care," she said haphazardly.

"Well, in case you haven't heard, the Visitor—Narrator—nearly _killed_ himself by pulling out his own Ideya, because _someone_ wasn't watching him closely enough!"

"Pulling out your own Ideya?" NiGHTS gave me a weird look, and then looked back at Silver Crescent. "Are you trying to fake me out or what? Nobody drops any Ideya unless a Nightmaren scares it out of them!"

"Anyone in their right mind would have no reason to disagree with me," Silver Crescent said flatly. He frowned, and looked reflective for a moment. "Although, I would imagine that it is quite hard become depressed in the presence of such an obnoxiously cheerful character…"

NiGHTS rolled her eyes. "This guy is almost as boring as you are… c'mon, let's go explore some more. I'll keep my eyes out for any more Maren."

I began to drift towards NiGHTS, but Silver Crescent's harsh response froze me in place. "I'm not letting such an irresponsible imbecile as you watch after Narrator. You were the one who dropped him in the first place, leaving him alone with you is just asking for more trouble!"

NiGHTS placed her hands on her hips, casting a glare in the admiral's direction. "I also brought him here," she said irritably. "AND saved his last remaining Ideya from the Nightmaren. Okay, I got a little clumsy once, but considering all the other important things that I've done…"

"Important things?" Silver Crescent snapped. "Normally, I wouldn't be endangering life and limb in this place, as I would be safely housed within Narrator's capable mind right now, but because of YOU, both of us are out here, where we can get cut to ribbons by all manner of the Dark One's minions!"

I frowned. "I have trouble seeing how Nightmaren can be any harder to you than Frights are, SC, particularly as you had no trouble with the ones we fought previously…"

The admiral sighed. "Alright, maybe they are not of much concern to me, as long as the Creator's visions still see me in victory, but the real issue is _you_, Narrator. I have spent nearly half a century fighting Frights, but I am not sure you have the same kind of experiences as I. And I don't think one daredevil Forerunner is going to do you very much good as far as safekeeping goes."

"Why can't you _both_ follow me around, then?" I said. "You can teleport for god's sake, Silver Crescent, if you can keep up with Goldeye I'm sure you could keep up with NiGHTS and I!"

Silver Crescent looked ready to fire another snappy retort, but he considered, heaved a long sigh, and shook his head, looking a bit resigned. "I suppose I can't argue with that logic. Until Owl shows up to straighten things out here, that might be our best option. Have you seen him by any chance, NiGHTS?"

The jester shook her head. "Heck no! I try to _avoid_ him, not keep him company!" She turned towards me, stretching out her hand. "I saw something you might like back in the casino, Narrator. Wanna take a look?"

"Why not," I said exasperatedly, taking the jester's hand again. "It can't be _that_ bad…"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six: The Grand Tower

"_This way_." NiGHTS gave me a slight nudge, towards the right. _ "Head for that building with the slots in it, and take a left._"

The building NiGHTS was referring to had a large lever protruding from it, and the familiar three-symbol display of a slot machine (though on a much larger scale than most). Well, I couldn't fly at sharp right angles without slowing down to a crawl, and since I had absolutely no intention of doing THAT, I decided upon a simpler gimmick—I grabbed hold of the arm of the slot machine, spun around it, and routed back in the proper direction, firing off like a slingshot. Behind me I heard the clanking of the machine spinning out a combination, but I wasn't around long enough to see what I had gotten. In any case, I didn't particularly care, as long as there wasn't a cash prize involved. I had far more important things on my mind. Like the Fright I was about to fly into!

The creature was a small dragon, equipped with two armfuls of claws and a snarling beak full of fanged teeth. It hissed as I approached, flapping its wings out to look more intimidating. I pulled up and down, aiming to evade it, but it maneuvered into my path again, and I was too quickly approaching to stop in time for it.

NiGHTS sighed, and grabbed hold of me once again, flipping me backwards and sending me into a tight spiral. The Fright made contact with my feet, and screamed as it broke in half, melting to a mist of darkmatter in the air. NiGHTS then pushed me back forwards, so I wasn't flying feet-first anymore. "_Use my Screw Kick, silly_," the jester chided.

Screw Kick. Yeah, like I'd totally remember _that_ one. What a cheap, overused video game trick; surely NiGHTS had something a little more original than _that_!

"_Screw kick, grab and toss, or Paraloop,_" NiGHTS explained calmly. "_Try it on that one over there._"

Another Fright popped out from behind a building, brandishing handfuls of claws. I flew past it, pulled a tight backwards loop, and passed through the streamer of glittering dust that NiGHTS always left behind. The creature emitted another satisfying shriek as it was consumed by a bright strobing Paraloop as we sped past, both of us snickering at the sound. "_Nice one, Narrator!_" NiGHTS praised gleefully. The jester fell silent for a moment, as though thinking—or, as she nudged my head around, searching for something. "_Yep, I see it! Hard right!_"

I grabbed a light pole nearby and swung sharply around, rerouting down a side alley. I was still unsure where we were heading. Rather than simply letting NiGHTS infer from my thoughts, I posed the question directly—where _were_ we headed for?

"_You'll see_," came the jester's mischievous reply. "_We're almost there; it's right up ahead. Hit that yellow thing over there._"

I spotted the object to which NiGHTS referred. Ten years of rabid gaming was plenty enough to tell a spring-booster when I saw one, even if it looked like a glowing fluorescent cylinder with a triangle on it. I ducked upwards and ran right into it. Predictably, it sent me hurtling down the corridor, spiraling in a dizzying circle. I found it to be a bit nauseating, but NiGHTS was overjoyed by the sensation—I could feel her elation spreading to me, as most of her emotions did. It wasn't a bad thing to be sharing emotions with someone who was always enjoying themselves, as it helped get rid of the moaning displeasure my human sense of balance (ever present, even in flight) as my body (or rather, NiGHTS', which I was borrowing) performed in ways it was not normally capable. I was beginning to think that NiGHTS had no skeleton, as the jester could easily contort herself into any position she saw fit, which I found disconcerting whenever she made the effort to display.

The boost from the spring began to wear off just as the buildings beside me vanished, leaving me out in the middle of a clearing. I looked forwards and gasped. In the middle of a Victorian city park stood a great black gothic tower. It must have been a thousand feet tall—I was easily a hundred feet up, but it towered above me for what seemed an insurmountable distance. Its entire surface was etched and carved with more flowing shapes and accents, flaring out at the top. It was crowned with a massive four-faced clock, like Big Ben of London, but larger and far more beautiful. The clock was adorned with a peak, as elaborately adorned as the rest of the tower, and its faces shown as though made from mother-of-pearl. I skidded to a stop in midair, staring up with wonder at the magnificent work of art.

NiGHTS chuckled from beside me, slipping to a less-distinct connection. "You like it?"

"It's absolutely wonderful," I marveled. "It makes the Sistene Chapel look like a toolshed in comparison…"

The jester playfully nudged me. "And you thought I was playing another trick on you. Wanna take a closer look?"

"Definitely. Let's go check it out."

NiGHTS nodded, and we merged back together, flying in to examine it closer. There were no obnoxious guards or metal detectors anywhere to stop us, no airport security to waylay us. I had inherited this wonder of architecture, and would be the first to tour its splendors…

As menacing, grinding laughter echoed through the air, I suddenly became incredibly suspicious of my surroundings.

I stopped in midair, staring up towards the top of the clock. NiGHTS asked what was wrong; I ignored her. Nothing good could come of anyone who laughed like that… I floated up, closer to the top of the clock, searching to see if my concerns could be confirmed.

Atop the spire of the clock, the buildings beneath looked like long smears of color and light, little else negotiable from the mire of night. No one was there, perched precariously atop the clock. No one was there…

"_You have to stop being such a scaredy-cat,_" NiGHTS scolded. "_There's nothing here._"

As we floated down to the front of the tower, something told me—I just _knew_—something was amiss. Maybe NiGHTS was right, though, I was being a little too cautious, a little too cowardly, even if that came second-nature to me…

I bumped into something as I passed by the great minute hand of the clock. I turned to look at the fixture, to see what adornments embellished it. The moment my eyes set on the clock, however, I completely forgot about every part of it. Dangling from the hand of the clock by a muscular arm, and looking quite comfortable doing it, was a very powerful-looking Fright. It had grey-blue eyes (hard to imagine most Frights with) that cast a startlingly dark glare, framed in by a mask of gold, a cruel imitation of a Frightward's Everstone armor.

It cackled again, and right before my horrified eyes, shoved off of the clock, sending its heavy-built feet speeding towards me. I was only a few feet away, and the blow made contact. It felt like the Fright had kicked my head clean off its shoulders, except as far as I could tell, it was still attached… as my arms went slack and the earth resumed its dreadful pull on me, I realized it hadn't been _me_ who'd gone flying. I fell downwards—

The Fright lunged forwards, grabbing me by the shoulder. Its claws sunk into my arm, a rather unpleasant sensation, although not quite as alarming as the feeling of suspension it provided. Apparently dropping me was not part of the foul creature's plans, as it hauled me up, gave me a little toss (for a terrifying moment I hung in free air) and then caught me effortlessly with one burly arm. I attempted to struggle, but the beast's entire body was as solid as twisted cables, and I might as well have been beating against concrete—and to what avail; the only real result of me getting lucky enough to exterminate the creature with my bare hands would be a rather untimely tumble, a rapid descent that could hardly be a preferable option to being captured.

Unless, of course, I was about to meet the classic fate of the Dark One's captives—be ReTooled into a Fright, and join the ranks of his mindless servants. In that case, testing the theory of gravity and Newton's Third might be a preferable alternative.

The Fright tightened his grasp around my chest as pivoted his head towards me, the sort of inquisitive look I might eye some relic I desired to buy from a dealer carved across his partially-masked features. The creature's voice was a growl, threatening in nature even though he was muttering to himself more than to me. "I can hardly see what Master Wizeman would want of this one… he has almost nothing in him."

I would try to convince him I wasn't worth his time, but such a situation I was in—die, or risk demonization. The sizzling sensation of screeching terror in the front of my mind took control, silencing whatever reply I might have mustered.

The creature rolled his grayish-blue eyes; they returned to me as he spoke. "Ah, well, I take what I can get." The Fright cackled, a menacing laugh that sent shivers down my spine. Perhaps I quivered involuntarily (more likely he felt it, Frights are quite connected to the emotions of their surroundings), because his next comment was a threatening jeer. "Enjoying the view, Visitor? Yes, you're quite high up, and it's a very long way down. So hold still and don't get any funny ideas, that is, unless you'd rather I sent you for a closer look!"

The Fright cackled again. This time, it wasn't just terror that was starting to steam in my dome; my expression tightened. I found my voice, and though the squeak of trepidation was there, the grating hiss of wrath masked it perfectly. Acting rough was a fair bit of being rough, and the best thing to do when cornered was to buckle down and start shelling. "You and your Dark Master can go to hell," I snapped, a retort Silver Crescent himself would be proud of. "Burn in the fires of your own incompetence!"

Talking big to someone who can't judge you is one thing, but taking shots at someone who can is an entirely different ballgame; by the looks of things, the Fright didn't buy the tough-guy act, and got rather trucked off in the process. His arm tightened like a vise, squeezing my chest cavity uncomfortably flat, shoving all the air out of my lungs. "You had better learn some respect for your superiors, Visitor," the Fright responded, scowling darkly. "Do not be under the mistaken assumption that I cannot harm you, because I assure you, it would please me quite sincerely to do so." He loosened his grip; I gulped down as much air as I could manage, panicked by my sudden deprivation of oxygen. "Fortunately for you, I am in a bit of a hurry tonight, so I'll make this as quick as possible." His mouth curled into a cruel smile. "This will only hurt for a few seconds…"

The Fright raised his free hand; it glowed with an aura of darkmatter. My muffled scream closer resembled a rather unmanly '_eep'_ than anything else. If he was not ReTooling me right here and now, then surely he was doing something nearly as unpleasant, and there would never be any recovery from it. He reached towards me, as intending to pull something out, like my heart or my very soul, from my chest. My entire body went icy numb as the cold embrace of encroaching doom overtook me…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Seven: Fighting Back

From somewhere beneath me—it felt like from miles—a tremendous _crack_ echoed, as piercing as a dagger through the air. I jerked violently in the air as the Fright jerked backwards, slamming against the side of the tower. His grip slackened, and I could feel his arm slipping off of me. The Fright's face was contorted in an expression of pain; flashing my eyes sideways, I saw the glowing mark in his body, the foul darkmatter-laced life source dripping out onto my shoulder, icy cold even through the fabric. Even as I fell from the Fright's arms, streaking once more towards the ground, I heard the all too familiar _snap-snap_ of a Loreia-firms carbine chambering a new round from below; it was a wonderful sound, the music of the Armada, one I could certainly die in hearing—

I had not slipped more than a second down before someone caught me in outstretched arms. I hardly needed to look; I recognized the steady, reassuring touch, and knew from the heave of air who my savior was. My head turned on its own accord, my eyes bouncing from the jeweled color to the twinkling eyes I'd come to know so well. "Nice catch, NiGHTS," I said, my voice speaking volumes of my relief. "Nice shot too…"

"You can blame your friend for the racket," NiGHTS said, motioning towards the ground. "That doesn't mean we're out of the Mare yet, though!"

"Huh?" I looked up with disgust, expecting to see a veil of melting darkmatter, rather than the Fright, merely clutching an arm and searching for the provider of his injury. "He just took a .86-caliber Loreia Frightkiller to the shoulder, the impact should've blown him clear apart…"

"Reala's a bit tougher than that. He's still plenty alive—"

I leaned forwards in NiGHTS' grasp—the Fright had just noticed us, and he sure didn't look happy about it. "And _kicking_ too!"

NiGHTS pulled to the side just as the Fright streaked past, executing a visceral screw-kick right past us. "You little traitorous _wretch_!" he yelled, turning around for a second run. "I _knew_ you were behind this!"

Due to the additional loss of stability (as she couldn't do too many aerial tricks while I was slung across her arms), NiGHTS was not so capable of dodging the next kick. Fortunately, the jester didn't have to, because another salvo of Snapjaw wrath sped up from the ground, peppering Reala's vicinity with hot metal, forcing the Fright to make evasive maneuvers. For a big burly guy he could sure dodge bullets… as a matter of fact, he strongly reminded me of NiGHTS, in both his movement and his form, the way he flew around in the air, although he lacked a streamer. It made obvious sense; the Dark One knew nothing of innovation, but he excelled at copying, and if NiGHTS plagued him that badly it would make all the sense in the world to devise a custom "anti-NiGHTS" Fright. He had done no less for Silver Crescent!

The metallic_ CRACK,_ _snap-snap_ of the carbine soon paused; the weapon's clip only carried ten rounds, short for a semi-automatic, and the firer needed to knock the old magazine out, fit in a new one, and then cock the snapper back to bring the weapon back into service. I felt certain that the Fright—Reala, had NiGHTS called him?—would take the opportunity to lunge at us again, but apparently he had yet to learn the mechanics of modern weapons. Or, the more apparent explanation, he set his verbal vendettas before his physical ones. Still clutching his arm, although looking more enraged than pained, he spat his knifing sentiments. "Do you really think you can protect that Visitor, NiGHTS? He is a weakling; only one Ideya, and not even the good one. I would have left him to the underlings myself, had I not be ordered otherwise…"

NiGHTS bristled from behind me. "Shut up, Reala! I never give up on a Visitor once I've saved them!"

Reala cackled, spluttering a cough in the middle. "You truly are an idiot, NiGHTS. That is why I'll have to take you back to Master Wizeman, to have some sense knocked back into you, right after I'm finished with that wimpy little Visitor."

The Snapjaw fired again; Reala sidestepped the round casually, as if it were of no more concern to him than the ground below. NiGHTS' thundering reply was perhaps a more dangerous report. "You know why you always lose to me, Reala? Because you're too stubborn and pigheaded to _realize_ what's going on here! Because you're too busy serving 'Master Wizeman' to figure out the _truth_!"

"I know plenty enough of the truth, NiGHTS," Reala said coolly. "Oh, plenty, _plenty_ of the truth." He grinned wickedly, catching my frightened gaze with his. "And I'm quite sure that, once your little friend does too, he'll think exactly the same of you that I do."

I understood my part when it was made. "Only lies can come from the Children of Evil," I snapped back.

Reala cackled. "Lies, indeed, dear Visitor, lies indeed!"

A sudden flurry of crackling gunfire erupted from below. Reala jumped sideways and vanished in a flash of black and red just as a cache of smaller-caliber ammunition laced the area he had been standing in.

NiGHTS looked a little sad, and give me a piteous glance. "Don't worry, NiGHTS," I said assertively. "He's a Fright, they're all full of that kind of crap."

The jester smiled, and nodded. "You'd better believe it," she said. "C'mon, let's get you back down to the ground; I know how much most Visitors dislike heights."

NiGHTS knew me a little too well; she took the cue from my occasional nervous glances downwards. Needless to say, I was very relieved to be back on my own two feet, zero feet above sea level.

"I apologize for my poor show of marksmanship," Silver Crescent said apologetically, resting his Snapjaw carbine on his shoulder. "Loreia may produce top-notch equipment, but it's rather hard to bulls-eye high-level Frights you can hardly make out who just so happen to have a habit of dodging rounds."

"High-level?" I asked. "Like what, six or seven?"

Silver Crescent affixed me with a hard look. "I'm a Level Eight. Reala there is an Eleven."

I froze in place. "Level… _Eleven_?"

The admiral nodded, tucking his carbine under his arm. "Yes, an Eleven. I had no intention of killing him, I just wanted to chase him away."

"If he's a Level Eleven, you'd need nothing less than a Sacred Sword to do him in," I said, frowning. "Even then, the Dark One would be quick to remake him. And how are we supposed to find a Sacred Sword in Nightopia?"

Silver Crescent sighed. "Alright, I shot myself in the foot when I left Serenia on back on its shrine on Calrossa, it seemed like a safe idea at the time…"

"Goldeye still has Vorté with him," I mentioned. "And the Emperor has Starria, Sword of Light."

"Unfortunately, the Emperor is back on Aublade and I have not an inkling where Goldeye is right now," the admiral said flatly. "Although we would certainly do very well to have the two around, I am not so sure of the practicality of the concept."

"What's a Sacred Sword?" NiGHTS asked.

"They are powerful weapons forged at the Turn of the Ages by the Great Ones themselves, and wielded by them in the First Age of Light," I explained. "Each one of them—there's seven in all, one for each Founder—has a small portion of the Great One's power in it. After being scattered across the Terrene in the Great Darkening some five thousand years ago, both the Ancient Empire and the Dark One have hunted ceaselessly for the relics, and fought viciously over them. We have a few, and so does the Dark One, and there's always at least a couple on the lam."

"At the moment, we outnumber him, three to one," Silver Crescent explained. "At least, we _know_ we have three Sacred Swords in our possession or within our means to obtain, and we've only confirmed that he has one Sword, the Sword of Darkness, which he himself uses in combat."

"What do these swords look like?" NiGHTS inquired. "Shiny colors, glowy, spark when you touch them?"

I snorted. "Each one possesses the aura of a mighty warrior, which is visible even to those without the Sight. They do tend to be 'colorful', although usually monochromatic, since they bear one color associated with their element." I paused, giving NiGHTS an odd look. "And yes, the Sacred Swords are famous for their finicky natures; if you try to handle them without their consent, they will attack you, and have been known to pummel the unworthy on occasion. How would you know that?"

NiGHTS shifted uneasily. "Wizeman has one," she explained. "It's green with a long streamer, glows violet around the blade. I once tried to steal it from him, but it nearly knocked me unconscious with a bolt of electricity."

"That's definitely a Sacred Sword," I agreed. "Green… that would be Chrominium, right? Sword of Time?"

"Choice blade of the Lost Founder, yes," Silver Crescent concurred, nodding. "I wonder why Wizeman would have found his way upon it… can he hold the sword, NiGHTS?"

The jester bobbed her head. "You better believe he can! He can do all sorts of tricks with it, but I've only ever seen him use it a few times. Wizeman said he 'doesn't dignify its use' or something like that last time I asked."

"Who is this Wizeman guy everybody keeps talking about?" I asked. "That freaky white guy from Baten Kaitos with the obnoxious dragon?"

Silver Crescent shook his head. "No, that's Wiseman, with an 's'. The Wizeman to which we refer, spelled with a 'z', is a far more heinous foe. I have not actually checked to confirm, but from all that I have heard, he is an incredibly powerful Fright, possibly even a second incarnation of the Dark One himself. He produces droves of lesser Frights, he calls them "Nightmaren" but regardless of name they are the same fell creatures we are so familiar with."

"And then he sends them all here to kill me," I finished. "How very generous of him."

"He certain does _not_," NiGHTS corrected. "If Wizeman wanted to have you thrashed, you'd be seeing entire columns of them right now, not just the little squads."

A soft beeping noise played nearby, causing both NiGHTS and I to startle. Silver Crescent reached into one of the pouches on his belt, pulled out a cell phone, and flipped it open. "Admiral speaking… what? Found something already, huh? Alright, I'll be over there."

He snapped the phone shut, tucking it back away at his side. "Mayaren says there appears to be a spawn point about eight blocks east of here. I'm going to help him investigate it." The admiral gave me a hard look. "If I'm not back in a few minutes, I'll send someone after you. Don't wonder too far."

"Do you think you'll be able to seal it?" I asked.

Silver Crescent sighed. "If I do, the Dark One will simply make a new one. I'm more interested to see how he brings them in, to see if I can interrupt _that_ process. I don't think it's as complex as my Power Jumps, as that would be a significant waste of energy, so there must be some other mechanism he utilizes. I shall see you shortly." The admiral vanished in his signature flash of light.

As soon as he left, NiGHTS grabbed my arm, tugging me in her direction. "C'mon, let's go explore some more!"

"I don't know," I said cautiously. "Silver Crescent said we should stick around here so he can find us again…"

"Yeah, and so can the Nightmaren," NiGHTS said, rolling her eyes. "Keep moving, I always say! Don't you wanna check out that garden?"

"Since when are you so interested in gardens anyways?" I asked. I looked around, from side to side. "Well, I suppose that if the admiral really wants to, it wouldn't really delay him very long to find us again, this Ideya probably gives me a strong aura. How dangerous can a garden _be_?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Eight: The Midnight Gardens

"_What kind of flowers are those?_" NiGHTS asked, pulling my arm up to point at a large bundle of stubby purple flowers.

I rolled my eyes. Those, NiGHTS, are African Violets. Like the last four groves you asked about…

"_Those too? Wow, there's a lot of those flowers around here._"

Maybe because you've only noticed the ones that are the same color as _you_? NiGHTS, are you colorblind or something?

The jester giggled. "_You're looking through my eyes, why don't you tell me that?_"

I sighed. NiGHTS had very enviable vision from the position of a nearsighted guy like me. And yes, she could see full colors. I'm very sorry, NiGHTS, you're just too much of a twit to pay better attention…

She yanked me over onto my back, so now I was doing a back paddle. "_Hey, I can't do sightseeing and flying all at the same time, you know!_

If I can drive a car and sightsee all at once, then I'm pretty freaking sure you can do the same, NiGHTS!

The jester seemed to take it as a challenge; she cackled, spun around in a tight loop, and started to accelerate. _How about we test that theory, huh?_

NiGHTS couldn't remember flowers for beans, but _shamierdes_, she was crystal-clear with how to warp my logic. Yes, it was hard to sightsee when we were flying around really, really fast, at that special speed that the jester had perfectly measured for maximum, mindless, thrill-provoking free-flying. All I saw was what was directly in front of me, and then, even only in snapshots, fragments, blurs of color and light whipping past so quickly they all blended together, a panorama of vision perhaps five degrees wide at best, where sight was meaningless and all that mattered was speed, speed, speed…

A pearlescent streak slashed by my face, like a bolt of lightning. I kicked out my feet forwards to brake, to stop—a little too hard, because I didn't stop, but was sent tumbling forwards.

The earth fell up beneath me; I crashed into it like a felled airliner. I probably would have broken half the bones in my body were it not for the soft sod I landed on, and the bed of flowers I smashed into the topsoil. The force of the impact was still enough to knock me end over end, and quite frankly I bounced, skidding to a stop several feet away. Spitting up stems and blossoms, beating the earth from my clothes, I arose to my knees, and then to my feet. I whirled around, the lingering ache of bruises unnumbered spread sporadically about my person, searching wrathfully for the source of my downfall.

There, ten or fifteen feet away, another white-headed javelin was buried, the gleaming head and ebony handle peering up malignantly from a tomb of soil, thrown indignantly at a rising angle. I eyed it strangely. It was not the first time such a javelin had pulled me away from NiGHTS. I had no intention of reliving the occurrences of the last instance, and instead fixated myself on searching for the weapon's caster, and seeing if I could locate NiGHTS, who, with all probability, would take a few moments to notice my absence. The garden had stone walls and some hedges, but nothing that would deter the jester from finding me; after all, there was a lamppost a few feet away, giving a good illumination of the place where I stood.

There was no obvious source. There hadn't been the last time; as a matter of fact, the thrower had only tossed one javelin then, even though I was vulnerable to a second strike. With all likelihood, he had taken a shot and moved on, thinking that he had hit me, and that was good enough. I had merely been brushed by the javelin, though, and felt nothing save a little irritation at being interrupted from my flying.

I examined the javelin. It had a short handle made from a black wood I could not identify, and from what could be seen above ground level, a large, wide head of pale darkmetal. I extended my hand, to grasp it, and lightly hovered it over the handle, seeing if the weapon would activate some defense against me. Sensing nothing, I grabbed it and pulled it up. The head was about eight inches long, tapering to a super-fine point I knew was razor-sharp. Shaking some of the dirt off of it, I noted that it was barbed in several places, so that it could go in but not come out with such ease. I had no idea how Dreyer had managed to remove such a weapon from my person without tearing out half my insides in the process. Perhaps he used Power to melt the weapon's head; it wouldn't have been hard, the white blade had enough of a darkmatter composition to be brittle, and would have fallen into pieces had he done such thing.

I turned the weapon over in my hands. Engraved on the side of the javelin's head was the Dark One's symbol, an eye, staring with a restless fervor. I didn't really need the extra hint. I already knew the Dark One's foundries had produced this malignant weapon, laced in the darkmatter he fostered twisted life with, doubtlessly used by a Fright of some renown. White blades were difficult to make, and only given to those Frights that had proven themselves 'worthy' enough; all others got either the outdated, flimsy black blades, or the hefty brute-force crimson ones. The Dark One's craftsmanship with weapons knew no bounds, as no two white blades looked exactly alike, and yet all of them fostered the same ominous feeling of despair to their intended victims when seen.

There was a sudden, reverberating sound from behind me. I turned around to see a mass of black clouds glowing crimson behind me. It looked like something was teleporting in—something very large, and doubtlessly powerful. I watched in growing apprehension as the clouds swirled, flashed, and finally dropped a giant metallic mass down to the ground in front of me.

The ground shook when it landed, and the Fright drew to its great total height, resting on long, armor-plated legs, like those of a spider, jutting out from its body in all directions. The creature bristled, leaning forwards; I could see its small, insectoid head, fitted with a single menacing eye, equipped with a short pair of pincers right beneath. The eye shifted from side to side, and then downwards, towards me. The creature pulled backwards, its jaws glowing mysteriously blue…

It fired a huge, glowing laser blast, a giant blast of white-hot pulsating plasma that could have engulfed a semi truck from bumper to bumper. I made a motion to move out of the way, but by that point, it was already too late—I was about to get my pompous posterior disintegrated, an experience slightly less fun than getting heat-rayed by a Tripod in _War of the Worlds_.

Right before my ashes were scattered to the winds, however, someone grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled, yanking me out of the way. The blast screamed past me perhaps a foot away, hurling a huge amount of churned earth into the air as it slammed into the space I had previously been occupying.

NiGHTS didn't bother returning my desperate gaze, as she was too busy watching the Fright. "How very strange," she said softly. "Reminds me a little of Arachnafear…"

The creature twisted itself around in position, clumsily realigning on its crooked legs. It emitted a roar, and then charged for another shot.

This time, it was my turn to do the pulling, as NiGHTS sat staring like an idiot until I grabbed her and pulled her forcibly out of the way. Another laser blast impacted the ground beside us, blowing a low stone fence and a large clump of bushes to kingdom come.

"What is wrong with you?" I demanded. "Can't you see it's trying to _kill_ us?"

NiGHTS gave me an odd look. "Are you afraid of spiders, by any chance?"

"Spiders? Oh, no, not the little ones, but the big, armored, Dragonball-Z-laser-shooting ones, YES! Let's get out of here before it starts getting smart on us!"

The jester once again ignored me, looking back at the creature. "It's definitely Arachnafear, but with some funny new armor on. But how did it get the upgrade, and _how_…"

Apparently getting sick of the laser-shooting, the creature began to meander forwards, a hobbling, clattering, growling mass of biome and darkmatter-laced iron. I wrenched on NiGHTS' arm, but apparently the jester had no aspirations for self-preservation, as she stayed firmly glued in place, thinking. "Come_ on_! Do you want to get _killed_? I don't!"

NiGHTS shrugged. "I'm sure he won't be easy to beat."

The spider-creature came closer, and shifted its weight onto its back legs, hurling its two front ones forwards. Its giant claws shot out towards me, intending to grind me into an indistinguishable pile of white and crimson on the ground, while NiGHTS took her time finishing her train of thought. I yelped and recoiled, burying my face in my arm.

The Fright's arm, however, diverted sideways, missing me completely. Its claws snapped around NiGHTS. The jester gave me a single, pitiful glance, and a sheepish smile.

The arm snapped backwards as the Fright pivoted, searching for a good solid object. The claw that held NiGHTS slammed against the side of a building with an impact hard enough to rend the structure's side, driving the Fright's arm to the wrist into a jagged pit of shattered paneling. I watched in horror as the demon withdrew its arm, shaking off its now-empty claw, and returning it to its side, knuckled down as an extra foot. The creature's head turned back towards me. Its mandibles spread, emitting another strong sapphire glow. I twisted sharply sideways and broke into a sprint, narrowly dodging another superlaser.

The Fright emitted a low, carrying growl, and began to march forwards, its claws tearing bitter marks in the ground as it moved. I began backpedaling, looking for something to hide behind, or some good place to run for. Unfortunately, the city was a little too far to shelter in—a few hundred feet, not something I'd want to risk running—and due to the nature of the scenic garden, there were a lot of terrain features, like stone fences and high hedges, great for a firefight or an ambush but useless against a giant rampaging Fright, which could and would quite easily smash past them in its efforts to get at its quarry.

My foot landed unevenly on something, and I stumbled, suddenly losing my balance. I fell over backwards, landing at an angle on my left hip. Although by no means a comfortable experience (I felt like I had bruised something), it could have certainly been worse, as I had broken bones before in such clumsy falls. Clutching my side, I pulled back up on to my knees, preparing to remount my feet. Unconsciously, I scanned the ground, searching for the object that had caused my loss of grace, and doubtless loss of distance.

I was shocked to find a long green rifle lying on the ground beneath me, as though left behind in a twist of time. I pulled it up off the ground and into my hands. It was very light, doubtlessly due to its ballistics plastic stock, and outside of the color looked very much like any ordinary hunting rifle with a scope. As I looked over its functions, though, something suddenly occurred to me. This wasn't just any sniper rifle—it came from my favorite multiplayer combat game, _Starfox Assault_. I'd fired hundreds of these things.

The fall of a foot about twenty feet away—too close—reminded me of the danger at hand. The Fright turned its head down towards the ground, its single eye glaring menacingly through the black iron cowling of its helmet. My expression hardened; I raised the rifle to my shoulder. Indeed, this was the weapon I knew—the crosshairs lit red when I centered on my target. I squeezed the trigger.

Emitting a soft _fishew_, the weapon discharged a single concentrated red laser, striking the creature head-on, right in the eye. The Fright roared, recoiling from the strike. As I began spacing out from the creature, it wildly thrashed the ground in its demonic fury, its great clawed feet rending earth and stone with ease. After a few moments of earth-shaking wrath, the creature regained its composure and straightened back up again, rearing up to hurl its legs at me.

I fired again; it moved, and the shot bounced harmlessly off its heavy armor. My third shot hit home, and not a moment too soon, as I would probably have been smashed flat into the ground had I not. Once again the Fright recoiled, screeching in fury, blindly slashing at anything that stood before it. I very narrowly escaped getting crushed in its efforts.

It seemed like the creature would once again regain itself, but this time it was interrupted by another flash of light, and it vanished, the beaten terrain left as the only evidence of its appearance.

I emitted a long, weary sigh, dropping down on a half-destroyed stone wall, my rifle slung across my lap. I turned the weapon over in my hands, bleakly admiring it. I had spent three rounds in the ambush. The gun only had a ten-shot clip, so that meant only a charge of seven remained. As I couldn't count on finding any more, I'd have to make them last as long as possible. In the game it took a while to spend the rounds, as the gun reloaded rather slowly, but I didn't have three other weapons to rely upon in combat, just the one. If I was lucky, maybe I could pick up another gun, but I did not see that as very probable. I had yet to figure out where this one came from, much less a second!

A fearsome cackle sounded from somewhere behind me. I pushed up onto my feet and turned, raising my rifle to my shoulder, searching for its source. I was quite sick of the constant stalking and ambushes!

Something sharp knifed into the back of my neck; I recoiled and yelped, feeling the movement of air as a black dagger slashed right past where my head had been a moment before. I turned and took a blind shot; the laser caught the Fright in the shoulder, lancing right through its metallic form. The creature exploded, dusting the air with a darkmatter mist. As the reddish-black mass settled to the ground, still glowering, more Frights approached from behind a high hedge and a metal gate, mostly the little ones I was familiar with (armed with stubby little black swords the ordinary human would hardly call daggers), as well as a larger, stockier-built one armed with a black shield and a dangerous-looking sword with a heavy blade, colored deep crimson. They all charged as a unit, swinging their weapons around in the characteristic half-mad berserker mode all lesser Frights used in combat. The sniper rifle, although powerful, was slow-firing and even backstepping I only got off a single shot before they closed the pistol gap and swamped me at close quarters.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Nine: Repaying Favors

The echoing roar of a carbine sounded from the side; I very nearly saw the heavy iron slug slam through my line of sight, marked by the trails of liquid darkmatter and fragmented metal as it bisected three Frights, in one side, out the other, and into the distance hardly slowed by the impact. Two more shots followed it, punctuated briefly by the quick _snap-snap_ of the reloader, each a precise front-and-back multikill, until only the largest Fright remained. The creature swung its sword at me, but I raised my rifle and lanced it with a laserblast, finishing it off.

Silver Crescent's iron-soled boots crunched softly as he stepped over a blasted hedge. "I figured you might be around here," he said, resting his carbine on his shoulder. "You seem to have a knack for being the center of the action."

"Where were you about two minutes ago?" I asked quizzically.

"Oh, I was exactly where I said I would be, investigating the spawn point," the admiral replied stiffly. "Which, as you may have figured out for yourself, is right around here. Where's that tweedy little jester you've been hanging around with gone off to?"

"NiGHTS…" I swallowed hard. "That big armored thing grabbed her and…" My voice trailed off; I found it difficult to speak.

Silver Crescent followed my line of sight, towards the still-smoldering building where the jester had been so neatly disposed of. His expression became bleak. "Ah, so it would seem, such untimely fate…"

The admiral closed his eyes, outstretching an arm; the faint aura of Power glowered around his hand as he began doing something… searching, perhaps? His eyes snapped back open, and they were razing with flames.

"What's wrong, SC?" I asked cautiously.

Silver Crescent harrumphed, hefting his carbine in his grasp; he stepped over towards me. There was an abrasive tone to his voice, near to a growl. "Let's take a little field trip, shall we?"

Before I could react, he grabbed me by the front of my hoodie, black glistening in his hands. The ground fell out from beneath me; I yelped and grabbed tightly onto his outstretched arm as reality buckled, sliding out like a rock ledge into a ravine. I was falling from the sky, to the abyss beneath…

The ground reemerged beneath me as I was ejected from the rift, dumped rather unceremoniously several feet onto my feet. The ferocity of the maneuver spoke volumes of Silver Crescent's current moodset, as he could quite as easily place one precisely enough on one's feet so that one doubted having moved at all, but if he was pressed for energy (or very cranky) he might not bother wasting the Power required to execute the maneuver. Of course, I'd scripted enough of these scenes to be completely unsurprised to find a severe change in the panorama—we were back in the city, although in a slightly different part of it. Here was the waterfront, it seemed, which I had not realized might be around. The buildings here had verandas and hanging structures stretching out over the water, as though trying to hide the join between earth and sea. In the distance I could narrowly pick out a cluster of tall, narrow masts marking the marina, mostly obscured by a number of large buildings from this angle. The constant splash of water was soothing, but the confrontation that was erupting from in front of me all but droned it out.

"Having fun, NiGHTS?" Silver Crescent snapped, casting his scathing glare upwards. Clamped firmly into the wood of the boardwalk I was standing on with heavy iron talons was a great spherical cage, chained in place like a zeppelin of black iron and gleaming red darkmatter shielding, the likes of which the Dark One swathed his spaceships of war in when the Dread Fleets took to war from his ill harbors beyond the Terrene. Through the glow of energy I could make out the familiar form of NiGHTS, looking rather pitiful encased within the prison of near-impenetrable energy fields. Had she been captured?

The jester laughed nervously. "Oh, how nice of you guys to drop by… do you think you could give me a hand here?"

The admiral crossed his arms, tapping his carbine impatiently against his side. "You got yourself into this mess, you witless cretin, and you can get yourself out of it."

NiGHTS kicked the side of the cage; she only succeeded in bouncing off of it, slamming herself against the other side (although wounding perhaps only her pride). "This thing is built too well for me! I can't!"

Silver Crescent smiled dryly, shaking his head. "Personally, I like you better in there. You can't lead Narrator into harm's way, nor create a distraction for myself, and although I can usually find uses for additional persons, I quite simply have no position that I'd consider you competent to fill…"

I nudged Silver Crescent's shoulder. "Come on, we're strapped for people as it stands, we've gotta give her a hand…"

The admiral whirled to face me, his penetrating scowl drilling into the front of my head. "I do not remember stating that your opinions are of any consequence," he snapped. "I have an idea of what I'm doing. Do _you_?"

I leaned backwards slightly, and hoped my response was not as cagey as my voice was. "Aren't you being a little too technical? I mean, just using the people you want seems a bit untypical of you to me, you're usually more into giving people second chances than just using them when they're helpful to you…"

Silver Crescent's expression flattened. "I do implement that policy, but as you may have forgotten, I _did_ give NiGHTS a second chance. She failed nearly as miserably as the first, and I'm not sure a third time is worth the gamble."

"Then forgive seventy times seven!" I came back, not skipping a beat. "The reason why the Armada beats the Dark Powers all the time is because you make every man count, rather than wasting them like the Dark One does! Besides, do you really want to give the guy a new minion? NiGHTS would make a really strong Fright for you to fight if you left her to the Dark One…"

"All right, all right, you've convinced me," Silver Crescent said, rolling his eyes. "I suppose I can account NiGHTS as 'improving', since she didn't get you killed this time."

NiGHTS whistled from the cage. "Hey, Narrator! Do you think you could break this thing?"

I turned and eyed the cage warily. "I'm not sure I could, it looks pretty well-built… hey, SC, do you think you could break the cage?"

"Let me see…" The admiral scrutinized the cage, his well-trained eyes probing its components. "It seems fairly primitive in design, I don't think it has anything electronic I could hack. The shielding suggests it has some kind of darkmatter generator in it, but judging by the aura it's giving off, it won't be easy to overload it…"

"Do you think you could do it, though?" I asked.

Silver Crescent sighed. "I could, but it would drain a lot of Power from me, and knowing the ferocity of this place's Frights I'd prefer a more efficient solution."

"It has a lock on it," NiGHTS suggested, motioning to the housing of the shield cowling; sure enough, there was a keyhole in the black iron. "Could you try breaking that?"

"A chunk of Blackiron that size would be tough for me to cut with my plasma axe," Silver Crescent said with disdain. "If Goldeye was here I'd let him try, he's into those sorts of gimmicks, but in his absence I would not consider it something warranting attempt. It probably has some sort of protective seal over it anyways, and I'd rather not test for that either."

"If there's a keyhole, there's got to be a key somewhere," I suggested. "A rather big key, in this case, but a key nonetheless…"

"I think there's three keys that lock together," NiGHTS commented. "The guards might have them."

"Guards?" I asked. Silver Crescent bristled from beside me, bringing his carbine up from his side. We both cast a suspicious gaze about the city around us. "You couldn't've said that sooner, huh…"

"I see one," Silver Crescent commented, pointing towards a high building nearby. I followed his line of sight and squinted; I could make out a large, dark form camped out on the top. "There's a second, right over there…" He motioned to a short building some distance away, where a similar vague form resided.

"Number three, right over here," I said, motioning to the building nearest to us. This one was better illuminated with fluorescents and a spotlight, and I could clearly make out the creature perched on top of it. It looked like a large, brightly-colored bird, menacing in stature, with a squat little demon seated comfortably in a saddle on its back, keeping far worse watch than he could possibly have realized.

"I say we take them out, grab the keys and spring NiGHTS out," I commented.

Silver Crescent brought his carbine to his shoulder, training its sights on the three, one after the other, slowly cycling back to the closest one. "Short, sweet and simple… there's just one problem. I can't shoot three ways at once, and if I nail one the other two will gang up on us."

I considered for a moment, thinking. I looked down at my feet, and suddenly remembered my sniper rifle, laid neatly beside my shoes where I had dropped it. I knelt and grabbed it, centering its crosshair over the guard atop the high building. "I can drop this one. That'll only leave the last one for us to take down."

"We'll fire the first shots at once, and I'll engage the second after," Silver Crescent muttered. "You ready?"

"As much as ever. On three: one, two, _thr_—"

The sharp, startling bark of Silver Crescent's carbine cut off the last part of my countoff. I heard the close guard shriek, and the familiar _poof_ of its darkmatter reservoir fading to dust in midair. My shot lanced right through the shoulder of my target, knocking him clear out of the saddle, the burst of red and black marking his downfall. The third guard arose from his post, his steed leaping into the air, but to no avail; both Silver Crescent and I blasted him at the exact same time, the refire of the admiral's shot taking out the bird as well.

"Not bad marksmanship," Silver Crescent commented, knocking the now-empty clip from his carbine and fitting in a new one from his belt.

"They didn't even see it coming," I said cheerfully. "Wow, these Nightmaren aren't very bright at all…"

"Neither Frights nor Maren are not especially bright by anyone's standards," Silver Crescent said calmly. "I'll get the keys for us." He raised his hand in the air, summoning the objects towards him. Sure enough, three distinctly-colored keys (each one the size of a broadsword) shot out from the tops of the buildings. They clattered to the ground at his feet, spinning lazily in place from the momentum.

I knelt and scooped up all of the keys. "Okay, so which one goes in first?"

"The one labeled "One", I would presume," Silver Crescent said with a chuckle.

"They're labeled?" I checked, and sure enough, each key was elaborately embellished with a number on the handle. "Well, that's… intriguing…"

"It's awfully cramped in here," NiGHTS called in a slightly irritated tone. "Can't you open the cage up yet?"

"That cage has an eight-foot radius," Silver Crescent growled. "It's the biggest cage I've ever seen the Dark One use, most of them can't accommodate a human my size standing!"

I walked over to the foot of the cage, and looked at the fifteen-foot span of cable that led to the lock, high above my head. "Oh, great. Are there any ladders around here?"

Silver Crescent outstretched his hand; gingerly, he pulled the cage downwards to my level. "Try to be quick, I'm burning Power here," he warned.

I placed each key in the slot, giving them a quick quarter-twist; each one vanished right after it was used. Within a few moments I fitted the last one. The cage split open sideways, the barrier-shield vanishing; Silver Crescent relaxed his arm, and it fell over sideways with a dull thud. I had a sudden feeling something awkward was about to happen-- maybe it was the way NiGHTS was watching me?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Ten: The Boardwalk

I anticipated NiGHTS' explosive response; holding her still was like restraining a wildly flaming missile, and upon breaking loose of its mountings, it could do nothing but rocket off into the distance, leaving you spluttering exhaust and fumes in its wake. I did not, however, expect the purple projectile to come barreling towards _me_. In the blink of an eye, I was brought to the sudden revelation that yes, there was one thing NiGHTS could do more irritating than grabbing an arm and dragging me around by my heels-- grabbing me around the waist and towing me through the air along with her!

NiGHTS had a very comfortable sense of balance in midair, and an incredible tolerance for the gravitational forces exerted on her. As the jester skipped erratically through the air, looping around like a maniac and making enough noise to match, I experienced the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of undulation from multiple to negative G's in the middle of her maneuvers, NiGHTS' unearthly strong grasp the only thing keeping me from smashing pancake-flat against the ground. I squawked and protested as best I could, but NiGHTS was a little too out of her head with happiness to care as she rattled off all manner of praises in a nearly rabid expression of liberation.

NiGHTS whirled past Silver Crescent; the admiral, noticing my position, acted astoundingly fast, shooting his hand out with perfect precision and wrenching me out of the jester's grasp. He pulled me around and shifted me back onto my feet beside him; I stumbled backwards and would have fallen over had Silver Crescent not seized my shoulder and held me steady while my vision stopped spinning.

In a few moments NiGHTS returned, a little less loopy but not a bit less cheerful. She emitted a mirthful sigh, resuming her normal posture.

Silver Crescent raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite done now?" he asked in an irked tone.

She sounded as bubbly as ever. "Oh, I'm great now! All that staying around in one place, I just needed to stretch myself out again…"

"You couldn't've been in there for more than five minutes," I growled, giving her a venomous glare.

"Five minutes in the same place, I know, it's terrible!" NiGHTS moaned, looking distraught. Her smile bounced right back. "So, are we gonna keep going or what?"

"Keep going?" This time it was I questioning her sanity. "Oh, I don't know, let me push all the blood back into my head first!"

NiGHTS looked confused. "I'm sorry, why did you move all your blood around again?"

"Humans are not built for aerial stunts like you are, you twit," Silver Crescent said sternly. "YOU were a little too inebriated with flying around to notice, but had I not pulled Narrator away from you, you very well might have killed him by flying him around like that."

"Really?" NiGHTS made a face. "Well, how else am I supposed to show my gratitude, give him flowers or something?"

" 'Thank you' will do perfectly fine," I said. "What I really want to know is, how the hell did you survive getting smashed into that building?"

NiGHTS laughed. "If I was that easy to get rid of, don't'cha think I would've gotten done in years ago? I would've beaten that Maren for you and continued on our way but I got a little sidetracked when I got captured."

"Who captured you, those guards?" Silver Crescent asked. "I would imagine someone of your strength would be able to beat them…"

"Not all three at once, especially when they jump in from the rear," the jester said flatly. "Unlike you, Mr. Trigger-Happy, I don't really like fighting that much, and I'm not too good at it either."

"A soldier who cannot fight is as dangerous as a Fright who can," the admiral growled. "I'll be keeping my eyes on you, NiGHTS… if anything should happen to Narrator, there will be hell to pay for both of us."

"I will take utmost good care of him," NiGHTS promised. She turned to me. "There's a big lake or something a few blocks from here with a bunch of ships and stuff in it. Sound interesting?"

"The marina?" I nodded happily. "Sounds great. We should go check it out."

"Do you warrant this wise, Narrator?" Silver Crescent said cautiously. "I would rather not have a repeat performance of our last act…"

I nodded. "Tell you what, SC—if we get into trouble, I'll call you. Got it?"

The admiral shrugged. "Good enough. I'll probably be in the area anyways, I have a bit of paperwork to attend to, and if what Mayaren says is true, Saki's been prowling around for me as of late, and it is probably better that I not keep her waiting much longer…"

I chuckled. "Good luck with _that_, Silver Crescent."

He sighed, smiling weakly. "You know how Florens are, my friend. Take care of yourself, and don't get into too much trouble. Cheers." The admiral vanished in his signature flash of light.

"What a boring guy," NiGHTS stated staunchly. She extended her hand to me. "Let's go check the marina out."

I was nearly as eager as NiGHTS was to explore. "Hell yeah, let's go." I took her hand, and we were off.

We made fast progress, and within a few moments we were at the marina. It was just as large, just as grand, and just as fantastic as every other part of the city was. Masts of ships of all kinds, all sizes stood like a forest of dark timbers, ropes and furled sails flapping in the breeze. The piers were an endless mesh that stretched on and on, curving right over the horizon it seemed. The lurch and roll of the waves made a soft and distinct melody, rocking ships back and forth in their moorings.

While NiGHTS pushed me along the waterfront, whirling in and around all manner of obstacles (there were plenty enough to evade), I took careful inventory of the ships I passed by. I saw schooners, barks, and many other small ships I could not so clearly identify. Some were fishing vessels, some pleasure craft, and at least a few were racing sloops, built trim and sleek for maximum speed. I noted a catamaran here or there, one great outrigger spanning two hulls. All of these were sailing vessels, or at least, they all had sails.

A giant wharf approached from the distance, lined with larger ships. Several had two masts, reaching high up into the sky. I counted a few with three sails, and unless I looked a little quickly (being in the middle of a loop at the time), I thought I saw a ship with four. These, surely, were the clippers, the great merchant-ships of times past. Here they sat, ready for voyage, but quiet in their seclusion, long since abandoned by their crews and the count of time.

NiGHTS did not share my interest in the relics of ages past. _Come on, come on, they're all exactly the same_, she said, tugging me away as I tried to drift nearer to investigate them. I protested to her poor generalization, but she brushed it off, being very firmly affixed that anything that could not be played with was of absolutely no consequence and did not demand much attention. _No need to waste time here._

I wanted to turn around and double back towards the clippers, but the moment I saw what lined the next wharf up ahead I immediately lost all interest. As soon as I came close enough to pick out the finer details I came to a stop in midair and soaked in the view. NiGHTS was a little irked (as I could hear her discreet muttering in the back of my head) but granted me the courtesy of observing what I considered to be the highlight of my dream as of yet

If it was anywhere at all, then this was it—Battleship Row. Tied neatly in place along three long piers were every kind and make of fighting ship that I knew of, and quite a few that I didn't, arranged in tidy rows, ordered as though in a museum. Near the shore was a trireme, the many-oared warship of the Greeks; astride it, a Spanish galleon, sporting a hull lined with gun hatches for its many cannon. There were a few more wooden ships—HMS _Victory_ I noted, its yellow-striped sides visible clearly from the air, as well as the smaller but no less prominent _Constitution_, in notably better shape than I had seen her in Boston (she was undergoing serious renovation at the time, and this was the first time outside of pictures from the nineties I had seen her with her masts intact). I espied the _Monitor_ and _Virginia_, the first modern ironclads (one a pyramid-shaped block of iron, the other a low iron bow with a single two-gun turret atop), calmly astride one another, their past animosities put aside at dock. The _Maine_ capped off the row, in more solid condition than one would imagine her rather explosive end would have left her. Two thousand years of naval history, boiled down to perhaps a dozen small ships. That was only the first pier…

_What's that big one over there?_ NiGHTS asked. She directed my eyes over towards the second wharf (if a decking a few miles long could be called such). My vision affixed on a large battleship, towering keep of its pagoda seeming to split the skies around it. I checked its decks and the rear of the ship, searching for flags or markings, and then its side. World War Two vintage, by the looks of it—definitely Japanese, it's got the rising sun on it, and the bow markings seem to agree. Probably one of those big Japanese battleships, the _Yamato_ or _Haruna _or something.

_No, no, the BIG one! THAT one!_ NiGHTS pulled my hand up, pointing on a looming shape at the very far end of the wharf.

I leaned forwards, squinting. I couldn't tell from the distance. If scale was anything to judge by, it was _huge_—even out at the edge of the wharf (a few miles back), it seemed ominous compared to the ships in the foreground, all of which were pretty sizeable. I began maneuvering closer to investigate. The swastikas sported on some of the ships I passed briefly attracted my attention—yes, that was the _Bismarck_ beneath me, and that smaller one next to it, _Admiral Graf Spee_ maybe, I'd need to look closer to know for certain. That would be later, though. And as tempting as those aircraft carriers looked, I was a little more intrigued by the large ship looming at the edge of the wharf, which I was beginning to suspect was two or three times the size of anything else (flattops included) that was anchored out here. As a matter of fact, looking at the ship's silhouette, the four turrets laden with what looked suspiciously like giant mass drivers, the racks of defensive missiles and squat, aft-set control tower, I was beginning to think that perhaps I knew a bit more than I would think about this one in particular…

We flew quite fast, and it took only a few moments to span the miles of woodwork below. My eyes were affixed on the ship. Flagship _Pride_ never looked better. Three glorious quarters of a mile long, armed with twelve supersize plasma drivers, rows and rows of smaller artillery and air assault weapons, and the ever-ubiquitous air-defense missiles, crammed anywhere they could be reasonably fitted, the _Pride_ spearheaded Armada assaults on Genesis and Calrossa, acting as a floating base of operations for the fleet's planetary conflicts. Her sweeping, open bow, an appreciable landing pad for anything smaller than a grandship, and voluminous hangars belowdecks allowed her to carry a full escort of battleships, cruisers and fighter squadrons. The _Pride's_ gargantuan generator, fed by a mass of Powerstone the size of a Volkswagen, allowed her to cruise up to thirty-five knots under full load and Power-Jump from one sea to another, giving the Armada an immediate presence in any body of water large enough to contain her massive displacement. Although thirty years in the making since the present date, Flagship _Pride_ was built for the modern age, fitted with a sophisticated weapons system capable of protecting the ship from any manner of aerial assault the Dark One might dare to—

_You're being boring again,_ NiGHTS reminded me quietly.

I blanched. I had forgotten that irritating notion that she could listen in on my thoughts. Can you not leave me alone for fifteen seconds, NiGHTS?

The jester giggled. _Your friend told me not to leave you alone again…_

I ducked in closer to the _Pride_, reaching out for one of the handrails on the ship's side near the stern. I caught it and spun around. NiGHTS released me, and I tumbled out onto the ship's deck.

For a floating object, the Flagship was quite steady; you couldn't feel the roll of the ship beneath you, probably as she was a little too hulking to be moved by such feeble forces as the ocean. I still nearly fell over and had to catch the handrail to keep from collapsing. "Such urgency in evicting me," I said to NiGHTS, who was hovering comfortably a foot off the ship's deck.

The jester shrugged. "I figured that if I didn't let you go, you'd pull yourself off and knock us both around. You're a lot harder to contain than most Visitors are, probably because you fight against me so much."

I sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I want to do _intelligent_ things in the air, like sightsee, rather than just fly around."

The jester yawned rather offensively. "Boring, boring, boring," she chided again. "If you keep this up, you'll be as lame and bah-humbug as Owl!"

I considered for a moment. "Speaking of him, when is he supposed to show up? Silver Crescent said he would a while back…"

NiGHTS giggled. "I've been trying to keep him guessing," she said deviously.

I gave her an odd look. "You've been deliberately bouncing me around so that he can't catch up?"

NiGHTS nodded. "If _he_ showed up, between the two of you I'd bore to death!"

I sighed, turning to face towards the ship itself. The corridor we were standing in was about ten feet wide, large enough for supplies and personnel to be shuttled from one end of the ship to the other in Armada vehicles, and layered with sturdy Red Oak wood for better traction. Behind the walkway were some of the ship's secondary guns. Staggered in a pyramid set against the main structure of the ship's tower were three turrets, each mounting a single cruiser-size plasma cannon. There was another cluster of these further forwards, as well as a good half-dozen smaller turrets mounting paired anti-aircraft guns, and of course, several armored missile racks, the potent weapon's nosecones protruding a few inches from their housings. Looking down the long length of the ship's hull, towards the large deployment deck that took up nearly half of the ship's total size, I could see her forward gun mounts, three great turrets in a triangular arrangement, each mounting three battleship-class plasma cannon.

"This thing is _huge_," I marveled, glancing down towards the stern of the ship, her rear batteries (which were every bit as formidable as the ones on her sides). "Compared to the battleships I've seen, it's a leviathan."

NiGHTS nudged my shoulder. "Umm, Narrator, hate to interrupt your little fancies here, but there's something you should probably see over here…"

I turned around, casting my eyes towards NiGHTS, and then skywards. I was horrified at what I saw. A great pale white ship blotted out the skies, looking every bit like a phantom of death.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Eleven: White Scythe

Descending from a plume of clouds, a long, pale white ship pulled into view, its black and crimson exhaust staining the clouds a hideous shade of visceral scarlet, like a bloody hand dragged across the sky. Its dense darkmatter shields glowered ominously as it repelled the atmosphere, trailing its gloomy shadow over the grounds beneath it. Like a specter it rolled in the sky, twisting itself around in place, its streamer smearing the sky as it maneuvered, seating itself into a position of attack.

"What is that thing?" NiGHTS asked with disgust.

I gave her a very concerned look. "That is a White Scythe," I explained. "It's a giant battleship used by the Dark One, considered to be one of the most powerful he has ever produced. Not very fast, but well-shielded, well-armed and, like all of the Darkness, utterly without mercy or restraint."

"I think we should destroy it," NiGHTS said, crossing her arms. "It looks too dangerous to leave alone."

"With _what_?" I asked, bewildered. "That thing has triple-layered shielding _on top of_ whatever kind of armor the Dark One deems fit to kit it out with! How are we gonna get through _that_?"

The malevolent ship tilted its bow downwards, balls of darkmatter growing on its 'shoulders', where its main guns were located. They churned in place for a moment, casting an evil glow about the harbor. With an air-rending scream, the cannons discharged, firing a massive blast of darkmatter onto the anchored warships below. There was a flash of red as iron and metal were rent asunder. One battleship buckled up in the air, snapped neatly in half, and sank back down, keeling heavily as it slinked lower down, its decks vanishing beneath the frothy water that consumed them. Several of the ships nearby rocked around in their moorings, smashing against the pier and each other, the force of the blast smiting them like so many wooden toys in a pond.

I watched with horror from the deck of the _Pride_ as the White Scythe pivoted, taking aim at another victim. NiGHTS had seized my arm, and was imploring me to take action. "Come on! We've got to stop it!"

Another blast rocked the harbor, smashing the pagoda-tower of one ship like a house of cards, sending a cascade of mangled, melted iron into the sea, sizzling and hissing like a pot of water boiling on a stove.

I was frozen in position; what could I do? I was just one little guy, with no weapons, no training, no way of fighting back… still, I thought furiously, scouring my brain for a solution. I thought, what would Silver Crescent do in a situation like this? Well, if he was alone he would probably retreat—not an option here—but if he had his choice he would probably launch a counter-assault from whatever Armada ships he could muster, disabling the Scythe's shields and battering its armor, Order-charged plasma blasts eating into its delicate insides like a hot knife thrust into butter…

A deep, resounding noise echoed throughout the _Pride_, a soft, reverberating noise, like a thousand chairs moving all at once. The barrel on the gun mount astride of me twitched and turned skywards, the turret swiveling neatly sideways, towards the White Scythe in the sky. The rest of the battery followed suit, every gun locking in on the ship's position. Slowly, gloriously, the Flagship's great gun mounts turned, their long barrels reaching skywards. There was a bright glow of luminous gold…

The wooden planking beneath me buckled as Flagship _Pride_ let loose a mighty roaring broadside, a torrent of superhot golden plasma surging through the sky like mighty beacons, scorching the mire left by the White Scythe. The Scythe flashed violet as its shields soaked up the immense volume of energy, one generator after another baking beneath the incredible strain of a full broadside.

As the _Pride_'s secondary batteries opened up, unleashing a hail of smaller rounds, the Scythe began to smoke and tarnish, its ghostly white armor melting and splattering, darkmatter running in droves down its sides like blood. The ship began to wheel around, to focus its main weapons on the Flagship, but it was late, far too late. The _Pride's_ main guns delivered one final broadside, gutting the White Scythe like a cheesecake. As the cruiser guns began to slow their assault, the Scythe heeled over in midair, its superstructure caving and falling to dust all at once. Finally, the ship shuddered and burst apart, sending a shower of glowing fragments into the air. It was a glorious sight!

If I wasn't beaming, then I was dead—I leapt up in the air, pumping my fist. "Hell yeah! That was freaking awesome! _Bonesaw, baby!_ Ohh _yeeeaaahhh_!"

NiGHTS cheered loudly. "That was great! How did you _do_ that?"

I laughed. "Me? I didn't do anything, you can thank the _Pride_ for that—"

Silver Crescent's cool tone interrupted me. "Oh, no, neither I nor my flagship was involved."

I looked over to face the admiral; he was leaning against the railing next to me, looking very thoroughly pleased. "What do you mean, SC?" I asked, confused.

He chuckled softly. "Yes, the _Pride_ may have contributed a few special effects, Narrator, but it wasn't me who was responsible for it."

I gave him a perplexed glance. "I didn't do anything, I just stood here and watched. I thought maybe you did the firing, or even the ship's computer, I'd imagine she has a pretty good autopilot…"

Silver Crescent shook his head. "I was in my study looking over my paperwork when the ship began to assume battle position. By the time I got to the bridge she had already began firing the main guns. I may as well have not been here at all."

He paused briefly. "Don't you understand, Narrator? _You_ operated the _Pride_, not me, nor anyone else."

"I… that makes no sense," I said cautiously. "I didn't do anything at all…"

The admiral shook his head. "No, no, no… think about what you were doing when the ship activated."

"I… I was thinking about how to destroy the Scythe," I said, the lights coming on in my head. "I wanted to destroy it, and I started thinking about how you would have destroyed it. Then, I imagined the Pride attacking it, and sure enough, she activated her weapons systems and destroyed it."

Silver Crescent nodded, smiling. "Exactly. You wanted the _Pride_ to do it, and so she did."

"Really?" I considered for a moment, staring blankly off into space. "But how?"

"You're the Narrator, my friend. Whatever you want to happen, whatever you can _see_ happening, can happen. It's just like when you write, except this time, you write it in the scene all around you."

My gaze caught on NiGHTS; in her typical fashion, the jester was acting fairly brusquely, and had leaned over into a midair slouch, looking very much bored. I noted the gun emplacement that hung out above her in the superstructure, and a devilish thought began to cook inside my mind. It brought a grim smile to my face.

"My, my, NiGHTS appears to have dozed off," Silver Crescent remarked quietly. "How very inconsiderate of her…" He nudged me. "Go ahead, try it."

I pictured, in my mind, a spent plasma cell flipping out from the ammo chute on the side of the overhanging gun, and bulls-eyeing NiGHTS right on her big purple hat. Sure enough, there was a resounding _clank_, and a large, cylindrical canister fell down from above, catching the jester square on her head. She leapt up into the air with a loud yelp, rubbing her head painfully. "_Oww_! What was that for?"

"That's just the Flagship reminding you to have some manners!" Silver Crescent called with a chuckle.

NiGHTS turned towards the offending turret, scowling. "Hey, big stupid cannon guy! Watch where you're dropping your garbage!"

The CA sailor manning the turret (or quite possibly AIS, the ship's quirky supercomputer) did not like being referred to in such derogatory manner, and was prompt to respond with a second plasma cartridge. The cell cranked NiGHTS quite solidly on her head; the jester's eyes flashed, and she wobbled around in midair, falling ungracefully to the ship's deck.

Although Silver Crescent and I both found this to be royally entertaining, NiGHTS did not share our nonchalance. She sat up, shooting us both a mean look. "Hey, what's so funny over there, huh?" NiGHTS got back up into the air, crossing her arms. "If either one of you wants to take a swim right now, by all means, I'll give you a lift…" she warned dangerously. I stopped laughing because she looked quite serious in her statement, but only the admiral's self-control stopped him from sniggering, although his grim smile still looked a little too self-satisfied to be passably normal.

"You have been an enormous help to us, NiGHTS," the admiral explained, offering her a chance to regain some of her dignity. "You've proved to Narrator the full extent of his abilities. Now, hopefully, our fight against the Darkness shall be much better off."

"Oh, really?" NiGHTS grinned. "Well, that's always nice to hear!"

Silver Crescent's expression suddenly changed; he paused, reached into one of the pouches by his side, and pulled out his cell phone, flipping it open with a flick of his wrist. "Admiral speaking," he said plainly.

I could faintly make out the voice on the other side; judging from the earthy tone and the faint Hervalen accent, it was probably Senior Officer Mayaren, Silver Crescent's second-in-command and unofficial secretary. "_I'm picking up some very strong levels of darkmatter from further in the city from the ship's monitors. I think you need to investigate it._"

The admiral's expression flattened. "What do you think is causing it, Mayaren?"

"_AIS seems to think that it's a high-leveled Fright of some sort, I think it might be another spawn point. Either way, I can't get a decent visual of it—no satellites out here, and too much jamming to warrant them—and I'm wary of simply blasting the area like your computer suggests I should._"

Silver Crescent sighed. "AIS tends to find the most effective solutions rather than the most practical. All right, I'll go investigate it—any landmarks to guide me by?"

_"The source is within two blocks of the Grand Tower, it's big enough that you should be able to feel it when you get close enough._"

"I'll see if I can detect it from here." The admiral paused, sensing out the darkmatter in the air. "Oh, yes, I do feel something; it's a bit far, but I think I'll be able to find it."

"_If you need any assistance, just send the word,_" Mayaren added. "_And please, don't get yourself into any trouble…_" His voice became quieter, although fringed with an entertained tone. "_Your mate is quite insistent I remind you of that._"

Silver Crescent chuckled. "Tell Saki that I will do my utmost in that course, and that I send her all my love and devotions."

"_Oh, most certainly. Stars light your path, Admiral._" Mayaren hung up, and Silver Crescent replaced his phone.

"What's up?" NiGHTS asked.

"Apparently there's a commotion of sorts near the Grand Tower," Silver Crescent explained, his carbine appearing in his hand. "I think we ought to investigate, it sounds like it warrants our attention."

"Commotion? Like what?" the jester inquired.

"Frights, very strong ones, either that or another spawn point." The admiral turned, looking towards the shore. "I can't tell from this distance, I'd have to get closer in."

"Wanna go check it out?" NiGHTS asked me.

I frowned. "It could be another Scythe," I said uneasily.

"Yeah, and? C'mon, it'll be _fun_!"

Although I could hardly agree with NiGHTS' proposition that fighting anything could be considered "fun", I certainly couldn't have more of the Dark One's minions hanging around my city. "Alright, let's go check this thing out." I touched NiGHTS' outstretched hand and made all due pace in the direction of the Grand Tower.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Twelve: Mechna-Fear

_Well, we're almost there,_ NiGHTS said cautiously. _I don't see anything different… do you?_

I looked around, scanning the skyline for anything amiss. The Grand Tower still stood as prominently as ever, and as we flew past a few buildings, I noted that the garden at its foot seemed no different than before. However, as I passed the tower itself, I noted a gathering cloud of dust above some of the buildings on the other side, as though something was burning below. It looked quite ominous.

_You think that might be the problem? _

Seems likely enough, NiGHTS. Let's get in a little closer.

I banked hard to the side, looking towards the ground. It certainly looked like _something_ was going on. The buildings here looked battered, gutted, smashed apart. The streets were piled with rubble, the street was cratered and splintered, and it looked like someone had dropped a couple dozen high-explosive bombs on the place. The buildings smoked profusely, no flames to fuel them visible through the dense clouds of sulfurous fumes. I sighed. Why was everything here constantly being destroyed?

_Nightopia reflects the soul of the Visitor,_ NiGHTS reminded me. _Perhaps there is something to be learned from this._

I considered her words for a moment. Yes, I suppose it was a fitting metaphor for me; I could not honestly say that self-preservation was always one of my major goals, rather, on some occasions quite to the contrary…

A large, armored claw thrust upwards into the air, slashing at the space I had only moments before been occupying. I pulled into a tight evasive spiral just as a massive blast of energy rocketed up into me. There was a burning sensation, and then a sudden icy feeling, and the all-too-familiar pull of gravity. As I began to plummet downwards I heard NiGHTS yelp from somewhere behind me, surprised at our sudden departure.

I had spent way too much time free-falling to keep up the gimmick of hitting the ground and dying. Instead, I maneuvered myself in the air and imagined myself pulling a Mace Windu-style ten-point Jedi drop, where through use of the Force (and some Jedi Master Awesomeness) I would miraculously escape harm. It was just dumb enough to work; I landed harmlessly on my feet, buckling slightly but not injuring any part of my person.

The giant spider-Fright that was looming in front of me, however, would have sent Master Yoda running for cover. It was very similar to the one I had faced previously, very similar, except a little larger, better armored and, through whatever means, suspended in midair from its legs, which it had plowed into the half-destroyed buildings all around it. The creature let loose a fearsome hiss, its little armored head pivoting towards me, a ball of energy forming around its single red eye.

I leapt sideways just as it discharged its laser, blowing a big chunk of material out of one of the buildings I was standing near. Chunks of concrete and iron flew everywhere; a few pieces struck me, stinging as they clattered to the ground at my feet.

The creature growled, staring me down with its menacing eye, and lifted one of its heavy feet from the ground, moving it forwards. It then pulled its legs out of the building it was on and hurled them into the next building over, shifting its weight as it did so. There was a shower of pulverized masonry as it transferred from one building to another, placing its last remaining leg on the ground. It pivoted around in place, angled towards the street below, and searched around, looking for its diminutive victim.

I had already ducked out of sight behind a building, subtly watching from the structure's edge. As the creature extended several smaller tentacles—arm-tentacles, with heavy metal claws attached to them—from the dark spots around its head, I waited in uneasy silence, trying to anticipate its next move. It could move, it could fire lasers, or it could attack with its legs and arms. I could run, or try to find something to fight with.

I looked around, searching for some manner of armament. I observed that the creature had been making quick progress, since it seemed the entire block was battered halfway apart in the same uniform manner. I was reminded of a World War II video game I had played once, where I traded shots with the Nazis in a ruined city. All this place was missing were the smoldering wrecks of panzers and automobiles in the streets and the abandoned weapons. Although the bodies discreetly vanished after a few seconds, they always left their rifles or whatnot lying around for you to pick up when you ran out of ammo for yours…

The ominous sound of buckling structures from behind me was as good a reminder as any that I was far from safe here. I darted away from the side of the building; as though awaiting my absence, an iron claw the size of my entire body smashed clear through the wall, sending bits of concrete flying. The claw rattled from side to side, smashing itself a larger hole, and extended outwards, blindly feeling around for its victim. The claw turned towards me as though having spotted me, and hovered forwards menacingly.

I ducked sideways, trying to lose it, but either it had concealed eyes or could heatseek because the claw was in no way deterred. Not diverting my eyes from it—somehow I knew it would lunge if I looked away—I followed the wall behind me, stumbling through scattered bits of debris as I made my fruitless effort to escape. The claw only drifted closer, moving ever so slightly faster, its hard surface glittering in the flickering light of spark-spitting streetlights.

My hand lost track of the wall; judging by the beveled edge, part of the building had been blown away. I dared not look to check. I blindly felt around for something to guide me, but there was nothing but thin air; I just might walk into something, eyes fixed forwards.

The Fright had put up with enough cat-and-mouse. Its claw spread open, revealing a handful of sharp serrated spines. The claw thrust forwards, threatening to engulf me with its razor embrace.

I leapt to the side, and the claw sped right past me, its long black wire connection streaming by. The claw cornered sharply and began to twist back upon itself, intending for a second pass. I tried to evade it again, but it compensated for my movement, and succeeded in ramming me. It was like being tackled in a football game; I was thrown rudely off my feet, slamming to the ground and skidding a few feet backwards. The claw rose up and came down, intending to tear me to pieces with its spiked jaws. I reached desperately backwards, seizing whatever my hand could find, to deter it—

Only as the stick grenade cartwheeled into the air did I realize exactly what I had just thrown. I cringed; I was within ten feet of the thing, well within its lethal radius—what a great way to blow off a hand! By whatever chance the grenade was unprimed and sturdy enough to resist shock, bouncing off with a metallic clatter, and achieving the desired result of causing the claw to flinch. I twisted around, glancing towards the rubble near my head; I grinned the moment I saw the reassuring shape of an old MP-40 right by my head, clip fitted securely in place. Not caring if I looked like a Nazi using it, I seized the gun and prayed it was still loaded, just as the claw came at me—

The MP-40 made a distinctive _PATPATPATPATPAT_ as I fired it, cocking lever shunting back and forth, the whole weapon bouncing and buckling in my uneven grip. It wasn't loud at all, but it made enough noise to sound real, and kicked hard enough to make me believe it. The nine-millimeter rounds skidded in and around the claw, enough of them making contact to put the point across. The claw recoiled and clamped shut, absorbing a few more rounds with its armored carapace, and then thrust out forwards, attempting to crush me. I rolled over sideways and fired again, hitting it once or twice in the rear. The claw began to thrash around like Crazy Hand in Super Smash Brothers, flailing around wildly on the ground. I got whacked once on the shoulder but managed to get away. I flipped open the MP-40's folding stock and fitted it to my shoulder, firing into the writhing claw. This time I was a little more accurate, and just barely so—as the claw flipped backwards, smashing one final time against a nearby wall while flaking armor like a hot pastry, I ran out of ammunition. I was afraid that it was going to come back at me, but it was in its death throes, and fell to pieces before me, crumbling to a sizzling cloud of darkmatter.

I fiddled with the gun for a moment, trying to figure out how to release the cartridge. I snapped back the bolt, tugging at the clip, and after rattling the weapon around a little allowed the bolt to snap back forwards, finally ejecting the empty clip. I dumped it on the ground and searched for one to replace it. I found a second clip, and fit it into place, snapping back the bolt to chamber a round. I also recovered the grenade I had fumbled previously; I stuck it into one of my pockets, made sure that it wouldn't topple out, and contemplated tucking it under my hoodie; deciding that would only impede my retrieval of it, I just let it stick out, hoping that no Fright would be clever enough to notice.

There was a menacing sound of bending metal from behind me. I looked over, perplexed, and suddenly drew back from the wall, leveling my weapon near the top of the building. Just as I had expected, the spider-Fright burst through the structure, sending a cascade of rubble down from above. I ducked through a crack in a wall, listening as several tons of concrete, metal, and glass hailed down a few feet away. As soon as the collapse stopped, I came back out, MP-40 at the ready.

I was not surprising anyone. A giant foot crashed down right on top of me, smashing me pancake-flat beneath its—

The fact that I was still thinking was testimony to Silver Crescent's quick thinking as he pushed me to safety and slashed at the Fright's foot with his sword, cutting into the sticky green pad that rested beneath the armor. The spider-Fright roared, recoiling its foot; Silver Crescent swung his sword out to the side, pulling out one of his pistols as he faced it down.

I took aim and fired, pelting the creature's armored head with hot lead. I was not trying to break the armor (the pistol rounds chambered by the MP-40 were far from adequate for such purposes), but rather just to get lucky enough to hit its weak spot. Luck was something I had just enough of; I managed to land a round on its menacing eye, just as it began charging a superlaser.

The classic weakpoint held true; the Fright nearly lost its clutch on the building as it thrashed wrathfully, smashing all of the buildings around it to chunks, which crashed down to the street below. Silver Crescent darted sideways and grabbed me by the shoulders, wrenching me in against him; as massive blocks of building collapsed upon us, the admiral's Black Shield flared, repelling the tremendous force of the debris and knocking the giant pieces apart, deflecting the debris harmlessly. A few seconds later, the ground at our feet was the only clear earth around. I pulled away from Silver Crescent, and he from I, as the creature retaliated in its half-blind state.

We had the Fright on the ropes, I could tell, and so could Silver Crescent. He took aim with his trusty Creylon and fired (I could hardly hear the report over the rush of my heart), sending a single .45-caliber round right through the eyeslot into the creature's head. It buckled backwards, shrieking loudly; I pelted its body with ammunition, and the creature jerked around as the shots hit its unarmored stomach. It suddenly slacked and fell backwards, tearing down the last building as it fell. The Fright hit the ground with a crash and collapsed inwards, crumbling into nothing, its malevolent existence finally ended.

Silver Crescent sheathed his sword and pistol, turning towards me. "Are you all right, Narrator?" he asked.

I bobbed my head. "I'm fine," I said, shouldering my MP-40. "Hell, I feel great right now. Not every day one gets to exterminate a critter fifty times your own size!"

The admiral smiled dryly, giving me an approving look. "You're learning how to use your powers, I see. Nice shooting."

I shrugged. "MP-40s fire fast, that's the only reason I hit anything. Besides, this is my last clip, and I don't think I have too many shots left…" I eyed the weapon's metal clip suspiciously, trying to estimate how many shots I had fired.

"You have six left," Silver Crescent observed, following my gaze. "Do try to keep track of your rounds, too many a good soldier has been lost because he went dry when he didn't expect to."

I nodded, lowering the weapon. "I'll do my best with that."

The admiral looked around, as though recalling some matter of greater importance. "Well, I suppose that would be what Mayaren was speaking about—although, with all honesty, I do not believe that is all of them, since I still feel a very pronounced presence around here somewhere…"

With a glitter of stardust NiGHTS appeared from behind me, gliding in an arc across my field of view. "Heya! Where'd you go? We got hit with that laser and then you completely disappeared and just now you reappeared…"

"He took a quick side excursion to Nightmare," Silver Crescent informed her. "It took me a few moments to find him myself… fortunately, it seems, his Creator powers cannot be negated so easily."

"Nightmare?" I asked, resting my weapon against my shoulder. "Oh, wait, lemme guess, that's the Dark One's abode, huh?"

Silver Crescent looked around at the rubble, frowning. "Well, sort of. It's when he warps part of your Nightopia into his abode, I believe… do you think you could pick up some of this mess or what?"

"I can try." I looked around, imagining what the city had looked like previously. It wasn't quite as easy as that!

"Try it with your eyes closed," Silver Crescent offered.

I shrugged and closed my eyes. I pictured the street corner, lights brightly glowing, moon twinkling in the skies above. I reopened my eyes… the scene came to being all around me.

NiGHTS seemed to bristle with glee. "Hey, check it out!" she exclaimed.

I wondered what she was so happy about, and then my eyes caught on a mysterious gold glitter, coming up from the middle of the corner. "Hey, what's the glowing thing?"

"It's your Hope Ideya!" NiGHTS trilled merrily. She pushed me in the direction of the glow; I stumbled a few paces, and then walked over to the middle of the street.

The glow broadened; it was all around me, encircling me like a great globe. I spread my hands, closing my eyes. Life seemed to pour into me as I absorbed the aura; I felt like I had just recovered something that I had misplaced, something wonderful. By the time I opened my eyes, I felt different, in a good way.

I looked all around me. I had not noticed how very dark it was, how very dark. I looked around, searching for the reason. The lamps were lit, but it was still quite dark. I looked up, and in the blink of an eye I knew exactly what was missing. I outstretched one hand to the heavens; like the lights in a theater, the skies above lit up bluish-white with stars, a billion tiny diamonds glowing in the dome of the sky.

Silver Crescent smiled in the light. "I was wondering when you'd notice."

NiGHTS laughed joyfully and swept forwards, twirling in a circle around me. I didn't feel like she was in the least wrong in doing so; I joined in her bubbling emotion, laughing along with her. It felt good to just be around someone who was always unceasingly happy…

-*-_The First Dream_-*-


	14. Chapter 14

_Epilogue_

_Flicking its crimson-stained wings one last desperate time, the Nightmaren mount crashed to the cold ground beneath, its eyes wild, its breath haggard. The last flap of the creature's wings dislodged the guardsman from its saddle, where he slumped down several feet to the floor, collapsing alongside his dying mount in no better condition. Pushing himself up with his stubby arms—the effort alone spending far too much of what remained of his life, the darkmatter drooling out from the open wound upon his chest—he faced the end of the long, mist-shrouded hallway, staring with drooping eyes towards the great black throne that lay so far away, and the monstrous figure that loomed before it, floating indifferently in the air, a lord over his domain. The Lord of the Nightmares, Lord Wizeman the Mighty. _

_The Lord of the Nightmares' booming voice filled the hall. "_Why have you returned here? Where is the captive?"

_"I… I am ss-rry, master," the guardsman gasped. He paused to press one of his hands against his chest, desperately trying to stem the flow of his life's essence from his body. "The Visitor… was so strong… I could not... stand in way… others gone… pierced with… fire…"_

_The guardsman collapsed weakly to the floor, gasping in a pool of darkmatter; in the gloom of Nightmare, it faded all too slowly, sustaining his miserable existence by whatever moments he could bare. His every breath took more than he could spare, it seemed, for the blood of a Nightmaren could not be replenished as easily, though they needed less of it than the creatures of the Waking World._

_The Lord of the Nightmares advanced; his option to move from his throne and across the hall was itself a signal of the gravity of the situation, for one with such power did nothing without the most pressing motives. He sent forth one of his great Hands to span the gap; the massive gray hand spread open, revealing the all-seeing Eye of the Darkness._

_Another hand he sent forth; this one lifted the guardsman up effortlessly into the air, like a child fingering a broken toy. There was a bright glow of crimson as the Lord forced darkmatter into the diminutive Maren's body, pressing life into him. His voice rumbled on, the Eye upon the palm of his second hand watching intently. _"Speak more of this Visitor."

_The guardsman nodded weakly; what he said here would deem whether Master Wizeman took pity upon him and restored him, or grew angry and remade him. Telling lies would surely bring about the latter, for the Lord of the Nightmares saw much, and it was unwise to test him. "The Visitor looked normal himself, no more than any of the others, but his aura… his aura was strong, like he had a Courage Ideya, but not so, for he did not."_

_Wizeman's Eye glared at him questioningly. _"Auras say much, but they are only a trace, an outline of what lies there. The Visitor was with NiGHTS, was he not? He may have had more Ideya than one…"

_The Nightmaren shook his head. "No, Master, no Courage Ideya. I have seen one before—I was there the last time—and he had nothing of the sort. That Visitor had two Ideya, Courage and another, and he was hardly as strong as this one."_

_Wizeman's Eye narrowed. For a moment, the guardsman dreaded he had upset the Master, but it was only upon his chest, pierced front and back with the burning brand of light, that he cast his dread gaze upon. _"How did you acquire this wound?"

_"The Visitor—he had another with him, like a Maren, but of a different sort—a more terrible sort! The thing was… guiding him, perhaps, along with NiGHTS, and its aura was mighty, frighteningly so! The Visitor struck me himself with a beam of light, he had a weapon, a gun of some kind with him, but the other Guardsman, the creature struck them, my Lord—they stood not a chance! I was lucky enough to limp off!"_

_Wizeman's Eye pivoted, turning towards the guardsman's mount; the poor thing was a goner, in a pool of its own essence. _"All this the Visitor did?"

_The guardsman cast a forlorn glance towards his comatose partner. "The Maren-thing struck my mount, with some kind of bomb I think…"_

_The Lord of the Nightmares emitted a long, thoughtful sigh. _"The creature of which you speak is a Ward; it is created by the Visitor, controlled by him, an extension of his powers. Most Visitors can summon small ones, but only a Creator could create such a powerful one…"

_Wizeman was silent for a moment, thinking. His eye scanned the perimeter of his throne room. The guardsman waited in anxious stillness, still suspended in midair by the Master's power. After a few moments, he dared to speak, casting the mighty lord a fearful glance. "Creator, my Lord?"_

"Courage Ideya are very uncommon, but they are water drops in the sea compared to Creator Ideya,"_ Wizeman rumbled. _"It has been many a year since one has made it here… if this is truly a Creator, it is a rare opportunity…"

_The guardsman looked up, and spotted a trail of crimson on the horizon. He blanched slightly; he could tell the General from a long way off. Master Wizeman was harsh but reasonable, and tolerated much of his minions, but the General was a braggart and a lazy layabout when he could afford it, which was all too often, and a taskmaster when not, which was far more. As the mightiest of Wizeman's creations, surely he of all the Maren would have defeated the Visitor. He was surely coming in, Ideya in tow, hiding however narrowly his pride in his success…_

_The guardsman was surprised when the General slinked clumsily in, not even giving a polite word towards the Lord, and completely void of any Ideya whatsoever. He was shocked to discover, as the General turned about, that he himself had been wounded, and was cradling a shoulder drooling darkmatter around his clawed fist. _

"What have you gotten yourself into now, Reala?_" Wizeman demanded, his scathing glare switching towards him. _

_General Reala scowled, smashing a support column nearby with his foot (cracks laced its surface halfway to its base). "That FREAKING VISITOR, that's what! He's a Creator for sure, and he's catching on quick!"_

_Wizeman acted as though he had heard nothing of it before; such was his policy. _"What is this you speak of? How do you know?"

_Reala removed his hand and pointed to his crimson-stained shoulder. "THIS is an awfully big hint!" he roared. "Do you think NiGHTS could do this to me? That VISITOR and all his little friends, THIS is all the proof I'll ever need! He's a Creator, already got two Wards, PLUS that traitorous imbecile NiGHTS helping him out--!!"_

"Mind your manners, Reala,"_ Wizeman growled, his eye narrowing. _"Can you be sure from the Visitor's aura?"

_Reala snorted, crossing his arms (his injury was more to his pride than to his body). "He's a little shrimp, that's what—no Courage Ideya, if it wasn't for the Wards I would have had him—"_

"Then it is certain,_" the Lord of the Nightmares confirmed. _"A Creator walks Nightopia once again."

_"Once again," Reala spat. "This one is stronger than the last one—he couldn't even summon weapons, and yet he had Wards! Now that he's figured that out, it's only a matter of time before he starts making more convers—"_

"SILENCE,"_ Wizeman commanded. "_Do not treat me on the same level of foolishness you are, Reala. All Creators develop differently; perhaps this one specializes in Wards. But all Creators have weaknesses, too."

_"Weaknesses?" Reala shook his head fiercely, still clearly fuming. "If he specializes in Wards, that is a strength that cannot be ignored! It means he is as powerful as YOU are, my Lord!"_

"He very well may be, but I am far older than he, and know much of the workings of man,"_ Wizeman growled. _"Some things they are all vulnerable to. That Ideya shall be mine yet, but it cannot be rushed."

_"But we MUST rush, Master Wizeman! We must make all haste to banish him before he tears us all to pieces!_"

"Banishing him will not solve the problem,"_ Wizeman retorted. "_It shall only delay it, and when the Visitor shall rediscover the way, he shall remember all, and come back wiser and stronger than before."

_The General still protested. "But—"_

"Do you think yourself better than I, Reala?_" the Lord of Nightmares responded, glaring at him with his Eye._

_Reala recoiled slightly from the glare; it had ironed out the last protests from him. Though a Level Eleven Nightmaren, entrusted with more rights than a mere guardsman could ever dream of, Wizeman's threatening presence was still enough to silence him as though he were still a Level One. "No… no, Master Wizeman," he said quietly, bowing slightly. _

"Then you shall do as I say? A very prudent choice, Reala. Now, we must watch this Visitor, and figure out what his weaknesses are. All Visitors have them, Creators as much as others, and it is the only way to drive away their Wards and ensnare them."

_The Lord of the Nightmares paused, letting his words sink in._ "This will not be an easy task. I will not say we may lose many Nightmaren—I say that we _will_ lose many, for some must be spent in testing the Creator's strengths, and others shall defect to follow him. But if we do defeat the Creator and seize his Ideya…"_ Wizeman trailed one of his fingers on Reala. _"I shall award every Maren who survives raises of rank. You included, Reala… I imagine that you would make a fine Maren-Lord."

_Reala seemed to stiffen with excitement at the mere mention. The guardsman shuddered. General Reala was bad enough, but Reala as a Lord, who could make lesser Maren at his leisure, that would surely be poor. Granted, the guardsman himself would probably be beyond his jurisdiction, but it would be a sorry sight to see such a horrible Maren gain such power…_

_So continued the night...  
_

-*-Fin-*-

So concludes the Christmas Special, Part One of Narrator's Tale. Now, here's the deal with our next connections. Narrator's Tale consists of three story sections, the three Dreams, and one conclusion section. At the moment, I am halfway through the next section, and I will begin posting it soon, under this same story for your (and my) convinience. See you in two weeks; the Professor, over and out.


	15. Chapter 15

Yes, after an eternity away, I have finally returned! You see, as I've probably explained already I write this story in segments, and I wanted to finish the segment before I began to post it. This is Narrator's Tale, Part II, starting with another prologue and entering, well, just where the last part left. Enjoy!

-*-

_Prologue_

_Perched precariously atop a barren tree, stocky arms folded across chest, one slender leg thrown over another, dark scowl vibrant even around the golden mask that adorned his face, Reala tenaciously awaited further instructions, his very short reserves of patience dwindling with every passing moment, frustration stiffening the corded muscles of his body. Nightmaren tolerated much in their pursuit of Visitors, the human travelers from the world of the waking; they had to, woe betiding the Maren who dared disobey his Master. That did not mean that they always did so willingly, though. Even the tormentors of the sleeping could be tried and tested beyond their limits. _

_The black and red Nightmaren was not quite to that point, yet. Master Wizeman had set out from his palace to walk the endless plains of Nightmare in person, taking with him a legion of his strongest and highest-leveled Maren. When he had commanded Reala to stay in one place and sit tight for a few minutes, he had stressed in no uncertain terms the gravity of the situation they were all in. As much as he wanted, he yearned to set out and find a Visitor to terrify—as far as Reala was concerned, scaring people was one of the great joys of life, and humans were much better than other Maren in that respect—but he dared not challenge Wizeman's decree. The Maren may have been the Lord of the Nightmare's strongest and most highly favored minion, certainly the one Master Wizeman showed the most lenience towards, but now was not the time for petty rebellion. Wizeman had far bigger things to fret than the whereabouts of his Nightmaren, and now more than ever would tolerate no deviance. _

_Reala would not have believed it had he not seen it himself, but there could be no question of it. A Creator walked Nightopia once more. Visitors by nature were tough, and unless you scared them were difficult to fight against. Rarely, a Visitor would appear with a Courage Ideya, which made them nearly impossible to scare. But a courageous Visitor was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to a Creator. Visitors could fend off Nightmaren. Creators made their own. The dark scar on Reala's shoulder bore testimony to the power of the Wards of a Visitor. The blow had not been mortal (Wizeman had sealed it with a brush of one finger), but it was grave enough to make a point. A Creator's Wards were nearly as great a threat as the Creator himself, as they readily confronted and attacked Nightmaren, zealously defending the Creator from any attempts at harm. Creators could even taint Maren into betraying Master Wizeman and turncoating. The ramifications could not be understated—the last Creator had been a brief flicker before being crushed by Wizeman, but the Creator convinced many mighty Maren into defecting before his inevitable defeat. The Creator had been destroyed, but the Nightmaren had remained for a long time after. Strengthened by the light of the Creator Ideya, they became nearly too strong to confront, and even now some still remained, thwarting their Master's efforts at domination. _

_Reala growled. He despised traitors nearly as much as Visitors, and although he found nothing displeasing in exterminating either of them, Visitors could not simply be offed. That would defeat the purpose; if you killed a Visitor, he or she would only return the next night, stronger than ever. If you scared them and stole their Ideya, though, you would break them down into quivering wrecks incapable of doing anything other than being mindlessly frightened. Then Master Wizeman, rightful possessor of control, would gain their powers, and make things better for his Nightmaren, as they could haunt and horrify as much as they wished, which is to say, as much as they could physically tolerate, without fear of being purged by the light of the Visitor's Ideya. _

_Wizeman's plan, the genius of which surprised even Reala, was to find some weakness to exploit so that the Creator would drive away his own Wards and simply surrender control to the Lord of the Nightmares. It wouldn't be easy, but if it worked, Wizeman would gain a Creator Ideya, which would make him quite a bit stronger, and the favor would be passed down; Master Wizeman had graciously promised promotions to anyone who survived the encounter, even Reala. That meant more prestige, more leniency, and above all more power. Reala was already at the top of the ledger, with the right of free thought; he could only imagine what rights he would earn next!_

_ There was a rustle in the wind; Reala looked up expectantly, hoping to spy the imposing figure of his creator blocking out the crimson skies of Nightmare. Unfortunately, aggravatingly, there was no one there. The Nightmaren sighed, clenching one of his clawed hands into a fist. That promotion would come a lot faster if Master Wizeman would send him commands already!_

_There was a loud _thwack_ as a strong force slammed into the bottom of the tree Reala was perched in. The power of the blow caused the branch to shudder, nearly dumping Reala off of it. He grabbed hold of the tree with both hands and glared downwards, wondering who would dare to so mock such a Maren as himself. _

_A tall, heavily-built creature, layered in etched and beaten dark gray and red armor, stared up towards Reala. Its insectoid burgundy-violet eyes bore down like beacons upon him. It laid a clawed gauntlet upon the handle of a white-headed javelin thrust into the side of the tree, pulling the weapon out with a single smooth motion. _

_Reala gave it a threatening exclamation. "What's YOUR problem, pal?"_

_The creature emitted a soft sound like the shifting of metal, resting the javelin against its battered pauldrons. Its voice was knifing and harsh as a razorblade. "You are the one they call Reala, are you not?"_

_The Maren snorted. "Yeah, what about it?"_

_"Oh, I was just intrigued as to why you are sitting idly about here, while the Creator walks at large."_

_Reala crossed his arms again; he did not need the reminder. "Go jump off a cliff," he retorted sharply. _

_The creature's eye glittered; its head shifted slightly. Reala could not tell exactly where it was looking, but he had a feeling that it was sizing him up, as though for a confrontation. For a moment it was silent, and then it spoke, softly. "I see you have met him. You bear the scars."_

_Reala grunted. "Yeah, yeah, I met him. I got shot by his stupid Ward. Dumb chance."_

_The creature crossed its arms, javelin still tightly pressed in its iron grip. "Oh, I know. That Silver Crescent, he is a very dangerous man—he's led armies, won wars, killed thousands of Frights, sparred with the Dark One more than once and lived to tell of it." It lifted its free hand, tracing a crease down its black and gray helm, right over the glossy surface of its eye. "This mark is his."_

_Reala gave the creature an odd glance. "What are you talking about?"_

_"I know an awful lot of useful things." The armored creature cackled icily. "Very, very useful things."_

_"Like what?" Reala questioned, intrigued. _

_"Next time you face Silver Crescent," the creature explained, "Do not try to keep your distance, nor try to outpace him; he is an able marksman, and if he can see you he can shoot you. Get into close quarters with him and kick him solidly in the head. If he does not block with his Power Stone, you will incapacitate him."_

_Reala snorted. "I could have guessed that."_

_A glitter ran the length of the creature's eyes. "Narrator is terrified of loud noises. If you fire a pistol within twenty feet of him he will flinch; anything louder than that, he will recoil and shelter his head, and be wide open for an attack."_

_The Maren opened his mouth for a response, but stopped midway, the creature's words echoing in his mind. "How… how do you know this?" he demanded. "Who are you?"_

_The creature emitted a hollow cackle. "I am everything the Creator despises, everything he fears, everything he sees ill in himself. I think I should be of some assistance to you and your Master, should you need my help…"_

_Reala's eyes narrowed. "I'll put in a good word for you," he said stiffly. _

_The armored creature nodded stiffly. "I knew you would come through for me. Should you seek my council, I shall not be far; your Master will know who to call upon."_

_The creature vanished in a rush of crimson, right before Reala's bewildered eyes._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter One: The Gate

The courtyard of the Dream Gate unfolded before me as I shouldered my way through the door, allowing it to close behind me. By the light of the encircling lamps and the starry skies above I could see in glossy detail the fineries of the quintessential Victorian courtyard, complete with a stone-lined path and a large marble fountain, arching the air with a slash of glittering, splashing water, like a stream of gleaming diamonds.

When I walked here last, this place had been darker, gloomier. Now, with the Ideya of Hope restored to my possession, everything seemed brighter, more vibrant, than it ever had. I could not explain the feeling, but I felt more like myself, more real than before. Perhaps that was the power of the particular Ideya, but I had a strong hypothesis that this would be the result of recovering every one of the precious power-spheres. I certainly hoped it was so; at the moment, I felt absolutely thrilled by the prospect. I had not lived until now!

I scanned the perimeter of the courtyard, and was a little disappointed when I failed to spot NiGHTS. Usually I found the playful violet jester to be supremely irritating, but for whatever strange reason I desired her company. It was odd, yet unsurprising, that she was absent now. Like Silver Crescent's knack for showing up in the nick of time, NiGHTS had a habit of disappearing periodically, to reappear randomly some time later. I made a note to inquire why she found it so difficult to find me whenever we broke company; after all, she could sense Ideya, and surely the two that I had (one of which was a monstrously powerful Creator Ideya) would be like a signal rocket in the air.

I sighed and strolled over to the fountain, savoring its melodic rhythm of splashing water. I caught my reflection in the shimmering water; the sight of my cheerful expression was enough to wipe it off my face. A drop of water splashed the spot, and I was happy that it had—in that same moment, the pool of my conscience rippled, and for the briefest of moments flame flickered inside my chest.

I turned away from the fountain. Whenever I looked upon my face I was reminded of my own ill temperance. I wasn't usually too particular about my person—I was not thin, nor was I pudgy, and I had enough muscle in my arms and legs to be unimpeded in the normal course of my activities—but I hated my face. My eyeline was alright, and of course I thought my glasses made me look intelligent, but everything else I despised. Alas, my face was something that I could never change. I could swap my green hoodie for a red one, or omit it altogether, and wear whatever combination of shirt and jeans I so desired, but there was nothing I could do to my face short of trying to ignore it. I was stuck with this mask, this clumsily-crafted shell that depicted nothing of what lingered inside, and even if I had surgery and changed every inch of it the shadow of what it once had been would endure, a reminder of the decrepit truth deep beneath.

I forced the line of thought from my mind; there was no point in concerning oneself in such trivial matters as appearance. The truly important people of the world would be too interested in whom I was rather than whom I resembled, and it was better to scorn anyone making commentary in that direction. Mirrors and cameras told lies; they could never show who I was, who I wanted to be, what I was all about.

A sudden sharp whistle attracted my attention sideways. I pivoted in place and noticed a long wooden perch driven into the ground astride of me that I had sworn had not been there a moment before. Seated atop the perch, giving me an odd gaze, was a large brown barn owl. He was dressed neatly in a little suit, and wore a little pair of spectacles on the edge of his beak, looking as intelligent as any ordinary person. His presence did not shock me; I had walked amidst far stranger creatures than this one in my travels, beings of light and mind unimaginable to the average person, in and outside of the Dream Realm before. If I were to wake up and see such a creature perched on the edge of my bed I would hardly stir but request that he not make any requests or loud noises until I felt sober enough from sleep to arise.

The bird clicked his beak and spoke; his voice was smooth and deep, like a very wise old sage. "So this is the Creator I have heard so much about. You're not quite as imposing as I would have imagined."

I smiled grimly. "Who were you expecting, J.K. Rowling?"

"I've been surprised far too many times to bother expecting anything," the owl replied, ruffling his feathers. "Although I am quite intrigued to see a Creator here. Your kind are rare, rare beyond measure, and I cannot stress the honor it is to meet you at last."

"Yeeaaahhh, sorry about that," I said apologetically, recalling something that NiGHTS had said about "evading Owl"; it seemed obvious this was who she was talking about. "NiGHTS kept me moving a little too fast to let you catch up with us. I got the feeling she doesn't care for you very much."

The mahogany bird frowned. "NiGHTS is rather insensible in some things, and normally I would disagree with most of her opinions. In this case, however, I am only happy that she was able to protect you from harm. The Lord of the Nightmares has little tolerance for competition, and puts much of his effort into the destruction of Creators above all Visitors."

"So I've noticed," I replied dryly. "I've gone from one ambush to another with hardly a heartbeat between them. I have no idea what problem the Dark One would have with me, though; I'm hardly anything to be afraid of!"

"You most certainly are," Owl returned calmly. "Right now you have only discovered your powers, and have only a vague concept of the span of your abilities. But there is a tremendous reserve of power in you; I sense it standing right here, and I will assure you it is as bottomless as the sea."

There was a glitter of white as NiGHTS' streamer rimmed the edge of my vision. The violet jester twirled gracefully around me, coasting to a stop right by my shoulder. She was beaming brightly, and seemed to be quite enjoying herself until she spotted Owl. Her expression bent a little, and her eyes narrowed slightly, as though knowing her endeavors at entertainment were in imminent danger of being sidelined.  
"Hello, NiGHTS," Owl said passively, casting her a bemused glance before returning his attention to me. "As I was saying, Narrator, you still have a lot to learn before you will realize your full potential. With practice and a bit of coaching, of course, you will master more complex techniques, and be far more capable of controlling your surroundings than you currently are."

NiGHTS twitched uncomfortably. I had a feeling she was getting a little antsy.

"Controlling my surroundings?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that," the scholarly bird continued, clicking his beak again. "By using your Creator powers, you can modify your surroundings. Right now I would presume you do it unconsciously, but you seem to be an enterprising individual, and I would imagine you are already beginning to grasp your talent for changing your environment. It starts with small changes—aesthetics, small objects—and as you progress, it becomes more extensive."

"Really?" I paused to consider. "Come to think of it, I can do little things pretty easily."

I flicked my hand towards the fountain, tossing an imaginary stone. Sure enough, the water splashed and rippled as a small pebble flew from my hand into the pool.

Owl hooted softly. "You learned this yourself? _Hoo_, I say! Visitors never cease to astonish me!"

I smiled sheepishly. "No, I didn't really learn it on my own, Silver Crescent helped me with it…"

The tawny fowl clicked his beak. "Even so, it is a considerable feat. Such things are difficult for most Visitors even when taught how to, and you are obviously fluent in the creation of small objects. Can you do anything larger?"

I shrugged. "Oh, sure, like what?"

"How about… a book," Owl suggested. "That should be a challenge."

I extended my hand and closed my eyes. The illuminated cover of_ Lore of the Ages_ by the great Imperial Scholar, Aduranté the Wise, appeared in my mind, scripted in the blockish print of Simple and the elegant arcs of Oldspeak, laced in gold and silver and inlaid with precious gems. I imagined the pages, ruffled and much used (though with reverence enough to keep their condition), the beautiful renditions and flowing scripts of poetry and tales within. I could feel the book's heavy weight in my hands, its sturdy feel, the brush of smooth leather as I ran my hands down its binding. I opened my eyes, and there it lay.

"Here." I handed it to Owl, who reached out with his wings (the feathers on their edges stiffening into fingers of sorts) and took it, hefting it with all the respect a bibliophile would afford a precious tome of times long since past. "I'm not sure exactly what's in it—haven't yet bothered to script too much of it word by word—but it's all in there somewhere."

"Marvelous," Owl said in reverent tone. He opened it and gently leafed through it, his sharp eyes scrutinizing its contents. "Absolutely marvelous."

I looked at the page he had paused on; on one side there was a block of text (mostly in a foreign script I could not decipher), and on the other, a large colored print, in the gothic style of stained glass windows in a cathedral. The image depicted a large, heavily-armored soldier, one hand thrust forward in a commanding posture, drawn sword swept to his side. Presumably the block of indecipherable text spoke of the glories of the warrior depicted, or perhaps some generalization of the Wards that Aduranté had observed during the span of his life. Although impenetrable to me, Owl could certainly read it, and seemed to be enjoying whatever it entailed. After a few moments he handed it back to me. "It's an excellent book, Visitor, you should be proud of your abilities to—"

NiGHTS reminded me of her presence by emitting the hardest-suppressed scream I had ever heard from anyone. She seemed quite desperate enough to break up what I found to be a fairly intelligent conversation between two scholars. The jester seized me by the shoulders and began dragging me backwards; for whatever reason, I was not particularly upset by this act, though I tripped over my own feet trying to keep pace with her. "Sorry to stop your conversation, but well, we've got lots to do and not enough time to do it, lots of Maren to beat, Nightopians to save, places to visit—"

Owl fluttered after her. "NiGHTS! I wasn't done speaking with the Visitor! There are some incredibly important things that I need to—"

NiGHTS ignored him and jerked me sharply sideways, towards another disembodied door on a little pedestal. It was a different color from the last one, and seem to be a separate entity, although I had not noticed the presence of additional doors in the courtyard.

"Narrator!" Owl called out, trying to end his message. "Don't stop creating! The best way to improve is practice!"

I heard nothing more of his message, as NiGHTS yanked open the door and dragged me inside, slamming it shut behind her as we passed into the second sector of my Dream Realm.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Two: Third's Pass

NiGHTS dropped me onto a soft, porous ground, layered in mossy grasses and a thick depository of reddish mud. I expressed my discontent with my footing as I realized how unpleasantly it adhered to my sneakers, making a mess as I tried to find a cleaner spot to stand on; it took me a few moments before I stepped atop a large smooth stone nearby, vainly trying to scrape the muck from my shoes before finally surrendering myself to the fact that, like it or not, this place was a mudhole.

And what a mudhole, too. I stood upon the bank of a long, far-reaching river, in the silty deposit left by the river's constant undulations upon its banks. The water ran by at a slight cant, down the shallow hill I stood upon, like an oversized brook. It was perhaps thirty or forty feet across, and though shallow a few yards from my feet, looked to be deeper towards the middle, as the water was noticeably darker further in. My eyes traced the line of the river, bouncing from one bank to the other as my sight alighted upon trees, grasses, shrubs, stones, and all manner of other such plants that like being close to bodies of water. The river trailed on towards the horizon, converging with several others at the feet of several craggy hills, until finally becoming one great river in the distance, flooding out to the horizon and the great sea of the sky. Clinging to the craggy water-cut bluff of one of the hills was a battered old stone structure, like a European castle, half-ruined and yet still holding on. I squinted as I eyed the structure. It looked very distinctly familiar.

Floating at eye level beside me, NiGHTS emitted a labored sigh. "It's a good thing I got us out of there," she said, shaking her head sadly. "Five more seconds of sitting around like that and I would've chucked both of you into the fountain out of boredom!"

I frowned at her. "I was enjoying that conversation," I said mournfully.

The jester reached out and prodded me between the eyes with her finger, causing me to flinch backwards. "Boring, boring, boring," she chided again. "Y'know what's gonna happen if you keep up all that boringness?"

"I might get somewhere in life?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

NiGHTS crossed her arms. "No. You might lose your Nightopia."

"Lose it?" I looked around at the splendor of nature surrounding me. A mournful feeling swelled within me at the thought of losing it all. "By being boring?"

"Yes," the jester informed me stiffly. "I've seen it happen far too many times. Visitors love it here in Nightopia, they're always so happy to come here, and then one night they act a little strange—lose interest, if you will, don't want to do much—and then, they leave and never ever come back."

The concept made me shudder. I had gained so much just being here; why would I ever want to lose this? That would be like me giving up eating, or thinking, or _breathing_—all great excuses to take an immediate and urgent trip to the nearest medical facility for evasive actions.

I turned towards NiGHTS; the jester had leaned towards me, her eyes open wide as she stared at me. For once I didn't double backwards, but I held my ground, returning her frightened stare.

For the first time since I had met her, NiGHTS actually seemed frightened as she spoke. "You wouldn't want to leave me behind, would you?"

Only for a moment did I hesitate, for I needed not a moment longer to make my decision. I shook my head fervently. "No. I might not always like what I find here, but I know—I know I can't just let it all go." My voice shook a little as I spoke. "I would rather go mute, or blind, or deaf. Even then, I would still need this place, and all the more."

NiGHTS stared at me, her expression set as though in stone. For a moment I was afraid; had I said the wrong thing? But then her face split into a smile. Her eyes glittered. "Really?"

I nodded affirmatively. "With all my heart, all my mind, all my soul. This is the best thing that's happened to me in a very, _very_ long time, and I have no intentions of just leaving it behind in any part of my foreseeable future."

The violet jester was overjoyed by my response; she whooped and did a cartwheel in midair, grinning at me upside-down for a moment before flipping herself back over. "Come on then! Let's explore this place!"

I took NiGHTS' hand, and we Dualized. The process of joining got a little easier every time I did it, a little simpler, a little more naturally. There was always one thing I looked forward to more than anything else when we converged; NiGHTS' marvelously good eyesight. Her golf ball-sized pupils weren't just for show; it was like looking through binoculars, incredibly wide and crystal-clear lenses, with a level of detail I could never ask from my shoddy sense of sight. It was nice not having to stare through smudgy lenses that shifted forwards and sideways and had a bad habit of falling off or bending out of shape. As much as my spectacles made me look sharp, it was much, _much_ easier to enjoy aerial tours without them. Particularly the white-knuckled freeflying that NiGHTS so often urged me into whenever she had any inkling I was not completely obsessed with observing my surroundings. Were I wearing spectacles, I would have lost them after the first few loops…

I skimmed the top of the water, trailing my fingers in its cool embrace before flipping onto my back and flying with my eyes towards the sky. Deciding that the lake of blue above was not quite as pleasant a sight as the waters beneath, I pivoted back over, watching the trees and brushes zip through my peripheral sight. NiGHTS playfully added a little extra power to my pivot, turning it into a corkscrew; for a few dizzying moments river and sky blended together, fringed with red and green and blue and brown. I didn't enjoy spinning like a top in particular, but NiGHTS absolutely adored it, and by moving just a little closer to her I shared in her joy. I didn't know why, but it made me immensely happy, just flying around like that. I had spent enough time flying with NiGHTS to figure out that I could adjust the extent to which we were joined, like turning the focusing knob on a telescope. If I agreed with her, then the bond tightened; if I fought, it slackened, and I could draw myself a little further from her. Not quite far enough, though. NiGHTS was still fully aware of every thought that bounced around the inside of my head, and though she wasn't often listening, she had a knack for hearing errant thoughts. That was my theory, anyways; I was just thinking about whether or not NiGHTS knew how to swim, since the water was deep enough here to explore, and I could feel that she was pulling me closer to the surface of the rushing river, as though my rising discomfort in its proximity was inverse to her enjoyment of it.

NiGHTS was doing wonders proving my theory. _You want to go for a swim?_

I shook my head (I could feel the tines of NiGHTS' hat quiver as I did). I couldn't swim. Never learned how, never really wanted to. Hadn't been in a large body of water since about sixth grade, back in my miscreant years, and knowing my inclination towards disaster, it would be very unwise to try now…

_You don't like swimming?_ NiGHTS seemed intrigued. _That's funny, most Visitors love it!_

I'm not most Visitors, NiGHTS. I don't swim.

Other thoughts were beginning to cook in my mind—my more private inclinations towards my opinion—but I shooed them away, concentrating on my best reason—I didn't know HOW to swim. I knew how to drown, of course, and I knew how to breathe in water and choke on it, not an experience I wanted either one of us to go through with…

NiGHTS was listening closely enough. _You sure? Well, maybe I can change your mind? Remember who's body you're in, Narrator—I swim like a fish. _

Before I could come up with a decent retort, NiGHTS pulled up my arm; I could feel something metallic in my hand. I gave it a quick sideways glance; it was a golden mask, the sort I might wear to a costume party if I didn't have my spectacles to get in the way, with a little plume of feathers in the middle.

_It's a Persona,_ NiGHTS explained._ Put it on._

I placed the mask on my (NiGHTS') face; it fit like my glasses did, with the same barely-noticeable yet ever-present touch I was familiar with. My entire body was suddenly seized with a very peculiar feeling, like being melted and pushed into a mold. I looked towards my arms; NiGHTS' slender arms were shrinking inwards, turning into a pair of flippers. Looking backwards, I saw the jester's narrow feet melding together into a large fin. A nose protruded forwards from the mask; it was a beak like a fishing bird's, long and drawn out, except a bit more like a dolphin's…

I hit the water with a splash, and quickly submerged. I struggled for air, but suddenly realized the obvious—I could breathe this water. I laughed out loud; NiGHTS didn't understand, but she joined in too. It was more of a dolphin-squeak, really, quite adorable. It was video-game water. The Mario Brothers swam in this stuff all the time and had no trouble whatsoever breathing it, so why would I?

NiGHTS kicked my feet for me, and I glided forwards in the water. I wriggled my arms, my flippers, and quickly figured out that I could steer with them, by angling them around, providing power with my tail. It was just like flying, except a little slower, a little more graceful. After only a few moments I was already unsatisfied with simply moving forwards, and starting doing underwater loops to add a little difference.

_And you thought you didn't like swimming_,NiGHTS said slyly.

Of course I didn't like swimming. I don't have fins like NiGHTS does, and most of the water I'm familiar with can't be breathed like this stuff.

NiGHTS just giggled at me. It was hard to argue against someone who was always so sure about everything they said. _Boring, boring_, she reminded me.

I was about to make a point about that being her favorite word, but I was interrupted by a loud splash. It sounded like it came from somewhere behind me. I twisted around, attempting to look backwards; with some effort I craned around NiGHTS' big dolphin-head, casting one eye backwards. In the distance I could see a large mass of bubbles spearheading a large, darkly-colored object. It looked like a big fish that was charging our way. As a matter of fact, it was coming in pretty quickly, and judging by the odd whooshing sound it meant some serious business…

I suddenly realized exactly what it was as its conical nose began flashing red—a torpedo.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Three: The Attack

I pounded both flippers and my tail at the same time, jerking upwards. The torpedo screamed past in a flurry of bubbles. With another beat I tore free of the water, skipping out into the open air. The water beneath me shattered in a shuddering explosion as the projectile burst. The shockwave, hampered somewhat by the few feet of water separating me from the blast was still enough to hurl me skywards. The Persona fell off, and NiGHTS shifted back into her usual form.

My shock must have weakened our connection; I had partially merged out of NiGHTS' form, and appeared as a silhouette next to her. The jester gave me an odd look. "What was _that_?"

"That was a torpedo," I explained flatly. "It means that we are under attack."

The pulsating hammer of a well generator echoed distantly through the air; a large black and crimson streak knifed the sky, trailing sooty black exhaust in its wake. The streak rolled lazily in the air, one long dark wing banking to the side, and turned about, its sleek, dartlike fuselage angling in my direction.

I sighed. The Dark One was no less set upon my destruction than ever. Well, a White Scythe was a threat, but a single Redaron was not nearly to the same degree. With a little help from NiGHTS, this would be an easy fight.

The attack fighter accelerated forwards, its nose like a drawn sword as it bolted forwards. Its darkmatter guns flared, slicing the air with icy blasts of glowering black plasma. I held my ground, restraining NiGHTS' efforts at charging the craft. The Redaron's shots skidded all around me, more than a few tracing my outline as I stood unblinkingly still, waiting for the craft to close in. The fighter's poorly-synchronized guns were not designed for small targets, and were notable for a blind spot at close range near the center, which their Fright pilots were seldom intelligent enough to notice. My eyes narrowed—as the craft drew nearer, it became steadily more important who would yield, him or I.

As the Redaron got close enough for me to smell the acridic steam of its superheated gun tubes, I finally broke the stalemate, moving ever so slightly to the side. The Redaron rocketed past, its nose very nearly ramming through me. Just as I had intended; I kicked outwards, smashing the craft very solidly on its side. The blow was hard enough to fracture the fighter's thin armor and knock the ship sideways; it lurched into a spiral as the Redaron overbalanced and lost control, tumbling from the sky into a fiery end on the ground below.

I could sense NiGHTS' amazement at my actions. I smiled grimly, crossing my arms. It had worked well for a strategy made up (literally) on the fly, well enough at least. Never mind the fact that I had engineered the Redaron's flaws on the spot, I had still muscled my way out of it without sustaining any injury.

_That was AWESOME!_ NiGHTS beamed, pulling me into a little loop in the air. We started flying leisurely away, the jester chattering excitedly in the back of my head. _How did you do that? I thought you were crazy, letting him shoot like that, but he missed, and he charged at us, and you just stepped aside and BAM, you took him down with one little kick—_

From YOUR superhuman feet, a kick like that would have broken my legs, thank you very much. It was very flattering to hear her speak so glowingly of my handiwork but not worth the feeling of faint embarrassment it gave me knowing that I had only done it because of and through her extensive support.

_It's a step in the right direction_, NiGHTS insisted. _Besides, Most Visitors need my help fighting Nightmaren. Only the strongest of the strong can battle them alone—hey, I sat back here and made commentary while you did all the real working, so I'd say that you did it all by yourself. _

I still believed strongly to the contrary—I just did a little thinking, NiGHTS did all the real work—but the jester would hear none of it, and promptly distracted me from my point. _Hey, look at that big castle over there. Doesn't it look cool?_

I looked at the 'castle' NiGHTS was eyeing. I was pretty sure that if it was anything it sure wasn't a castle. Personally, I thought it looked like a fortress, a guard post, a prison compound, something of that nature. As we drew closer, I noted how it seemed to be positioned right on the corner of the merging rivers, overlooking all of the nearby hills. It was then I realized what it was. The so-called castle was a corner fort. We were on the water planet of my stories, right in the middle of Third's Pass, the scene of the horrific struggle between the Empire and the Dark Powers to control the jugular vein of Calrossa, the span of major navigable rivers that all conjoined in one spot on their way to the Capital in Third's Pass. The fighting was so vicious that the valley garnered the nickname "Hell's Pass", a name it carried well into the future of the conflict as the darkmatter left from the Dark One's shattered minions left the soil infertile for decades, home only to the brushy tawny grasses and the rusted hulks of ruined equipment that surfaced like wraiths from the low tides. Perhaps here was before, or far enough after, the conflict to have healed the wounds left upon the desolate earth. The plants were lush enough, the water clear enough to have suggested either were it not for the rubble of the destroyed fort still standing guard over its old haunt, watching for the Dark One's malicious return.

NiGHTS' tone said just as much as her choice of words. _Boring. Let's go swim over there, it looks more fun than some old rocks. _

I didn't want to go swim, I wanted to explore the corner fort, preferably on foot. NiGHTS started dragging me towards the river again (were those the rapids she wanted to 'investigate'?) but I put up a strong enough fight to stop her. Regardless of how much coaxing she attempted to apply to me, I could not be deterred. Neither would NiGHTS. _I let you do all sorts of boring stuff earlier, now come on, let's try something more fun!_

I attempted to pull NiGHTS sideways, towards the old fort; she wasn't expecting it and slid a few feet sideways, but soon seized up once again and held fast, refusing to go along. _Oh no you don't. I'm not going over there! I can sense the waves of funlessness from here!_

It made no sense to me why NiGHTS would make such a fuss about hanging around a half-assembled heap of reinforced concrete; even my outdoors-despising brother would not be this adverse to the idea! After a few more moments of struggling, I finally decided it was quite simply not worth the expended effort, and yielded to the jester's choice.

NiGHTS was pleased, and immediately forgot that there had been any argument to begin with. _I knew you'd agree! Let's go explore the river now!_

We meandered down towards the water, sure enough, towards the twenty-foot stretch of river where all four of the rivers combined into one large one. The water here was foamy white, and thrashing around like a dying animal. I asked NiGHTS cautiously why she chose this of all places to explore, and got a very disconcerting giggle in response.

I was absolutely certain that NiGHTS intended to swim in the rapids. I questioned her sanity at that point; even if she shapeshifted again I doubted the possibility of escaping without injury. The current here was quite savage, and it looked anything but safe to swim in!

_Scaredy-cat_, NiGHTS teased. _Are you afraid of a few little bubbles?_

No, NiGHTS, but I was certainly afraid of the large jagged rocks and the immense current, which might combine to make both of us _very_ _dead_.

NiGHTS muttered something I didn't care to listen to, and then yanked me forwards, knocking me into the rapids below. _Let's have some FUN!_

I hit the water very hard; judging by the weight I felt on the bridge of my noise, NiGHTS had put the Persona back on. The transformation was not quite complete by the time the current began dragging, and then hurling me forwards. Just as I suspected, the water was littered with large boulders, all of them razor-sharp. As I began madly weaving in and around the deadly devices, I could hear NiGHTS' insane laughter in the back of my mind. She found it exhilarating; I was terrified, and did not share any of her emotions!

NiGHTS was always a good judge of her Visitor, however, and once I figured it all out dodging the boulders at high speed became more of a sport and less of survival. The current shoved me along wondrously fast, and as I dove in, around and occasionally through gaps in the scattered wall I too began to enjoy the experience, like the difficult part of a stage in a video game made more fun by the challenge. And if I ran into trouble (as I occasionally did) I simply let NiGHTS take control; she sometimes kicked through boulders and sometimes vaulted them, her masterful control making mine look rather juvenile. Then again, she had been using her body a lot longer than I had been borrowing it…

I hardly heard the series of loud splashes from behind. I did, however, hear the first blast as a torpedo slammed into a nearby obstacle. The force of the explosion knocked me sideways, slamming me against another rock. The second burst nearly incapacitated me, but somehow I held on, even though my head was whirling. I saw two more torpedoes closing in from the rear, sending a cascade of bubbles in their wakes. I scowled and gritted my teeth, wildly kicking and flailing in an attempt to gain ground. Another torpedo went off course and slammed into a boulder; the shockwave seemed to push me forwards at the same time it filled my head with reverberating shock. Amplified by the water, the sound was unbearable; my mind instinctively shifted control to NiGHTS in an effort to disconnect itself from the pain. NiGHTS found it unpleasant, although not nearly as agonizing as I had, possibly because there was less inside her head that was vulnerable to the shockwaves.

I was unwilling to stay in the water and await the fourth torpedo's detonation, and neither was NiGHTS. We both pushed up at the same time, launching up and out of the water. The torpedo detonated a moment before we cleared its surface, hurling us both skywards. The force of the blast was not so well buffeted this time, and as I suddenly felt gravity's wrenching embrace I knew that it had knocked NiGHTS and I apart. I tumbled down in the air and made an unpleasant landing in the water again. As I quickly began to sink, I flailed around wildly, desperately trying to stay afloat. I had never quite mastered the dead man's float, though, and my efforts were in vain. This water I could not breathe; I choked and spluttered as my face went underwater, down towards a watery end…

Someone grabbed me and pulled me up out of the water by the back of my sweatshirt. I was still thrashing the water when I felt myself wrenched up and out of its cold embrace by a strong arm. As soon as I realized what was happening, I immediately stopped moving, not desiring to strike my savior! I twisted around, to see to whom I owed my gratitude, expecting to see either NiGHTS or Silver Crescent.

Cold blue-gray eyes watched smugly from behind a golden mask, a toothy grin pressed across a pale white face. "Hello, Narrator," Reala, the frightful Level Eleven Nightmaren, said grimly. "Enjoying your swim?"


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Four: Capture

The moment I realized I had not been rescued but rather captured I continued my thrashing. I wished I was back in the water; Reala simply ignored my futile resistance and grabbed me in a headlock, allowing me to flail away as he floated back to the shore a few yards away.

I imagined an Everstone side-knife in my grasp; the weapon appeared, drawn and held at the ready. Right before I drove it into his shoulder Reala casually tore it from my grasp and tossed it aside. "Now, now, none of that will be necessary," he said, eyes narrowing. "You would not _believe _how much pleasure it would be to kill you right now, but unfortunately, my Master needs you alive." The Maren flexed his grip around my head, the shifting sensation in my neck a sure sign of his ability to snap it backwards at his leisure. "He said nothing about _wounded_ though, so I would advise you not pull any funny business, if you know what's _good_ for you."

I finally stopped struggling when he shifted his grasp from my neck to beneath my arms (much easier for him to restrain me in) and began squeezing my chest cavity, making it difficult for me to breathe.

"Reala!" NiGHTS' upset response sounded out from somewhere nearby. The Maren turned around, to face the violet jester. "Let go of him!"

Reala sighed, his voice a sarcastic jeer. "It's so fortunate that you haven't been killed yet, NiGHTS, otherwise I would have hardly any challenge at all." The sarcasm evaporated from his voice. "You're not getting in my way _this_ time, NiGHTS. The Visitor is mine." He raised one of his clawed hands in front of my face; the motion he made with it was enough to make me shudder. "And unless you'd like to see him lose a few body parts right now, I would highly advise you not make any sudden moves."

There was a heavy pound of wings as a Maren-guard descended from behind NiGHTS. The jester turned and gawked at it; I did much the same. This was not the same bird-riding little halfwit we had seen before; the guard's steed was decked from head to tail in heavy plates of articulated armor, black as night, armed with heavy claws and a muzzle that ominously flared smoke and sparks whenever the creature exhaled, as though restraining a torrent of flame held within. The rider himself was clad in like fashion, a large crimson-headed lance riding in one arm, the reins in the other. He glared out with glowering eyes through a slit in his dark helm, repeating an unspoken declaration of the futility of resistance.

"You like the new Nightmaren?" Reala cackled. "The Castle Guardsmen are a little tougher than the ones you're familiar with, particularly with the upgrades. I should hope you would not think of messing with them, as they are not quite as lenient as the Gaddles are."

The jester looked at me, and then at the Guardsman; I could tell she was about to surrender, in some vain attempt at sparing me. The very thought prompted me to respond; I didn't want to take her down with me. "NiGHTS!" I yelled. "Get out of here! It's me they really want!"

"I can't leave you alone here!" NiGHTS replied briskly.

"I'll find a way out myself! Save yourself and go!"

She paused for a moment, as though thinking, and shook her head. "I won't leave you behind!"

It was quite pathetic, really. The Guardsman pulled something up from his saddle—it looked like a glowing red sphere from my distance—and tossed it at NiGHTS. The sphere exploded around her and engulfed her in a field of crimson, vanishing a moment later and taking the jester along with it.

I was frustrated with NiGHTS' stubborn nature; she could have easily escaped, and I sincerely doubted the Nightmaren would have been able to recapture her. And now, I was still alone with the Dark One's most craven minion, Reala. Although I thought it unlikely that he would actually risk harming me (now that I knew my life was an important part of my value as a captive), I really, _really_ did NOT want to test my theory.

The gold-masked Maren was muttering to himself, as though I wouldn't hear him even though I was only a few inches from his face. _"Master said to bring him to him in person, but wouldn't it be easier to take the Ideya and run with it…"_ He breathed a disgruntled sigh. "Ah, well, can't disobey orders." He began dragging me backwards; it was hard to resist, considering how my feet were suspended a ways off the ground, but I still made an honest effort. Reala was merely amused by my pathetic efforts. "Why all the fuss, Narrator? Don't you want to meet my wonderful Master?"

"Not really, not at freaking _all_," I growled, unsuccessfully trying to pry his arm from around my chest.

Reala gave me a piercing glare. "I'd be excited if I were you. I'm sure that Master Wizeman means quite well in his propositions; otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to have you brought in person."

THAT was an ominous clue—now I was sure that he wanted to turn me into a Fright. Someone with my Power potential would make a very powerful minion for the Dark One. Considering how he tended to throw away his military assets (just looking back at the past few hours I'd seen more than a dozen wiped out plus a space cruiser), he was always short of powerful minions.

It was not a fate I found fitting. I tried once again to break free, but Reala was too solid to be moved. I could already see the shimmering surface of the dimensional rift he used to enter through, and intended to exit by. It wasn't far away, and I didn't have much time. It was just then that I remembered something.

Reala must have felt my shifting around, because his eyes turned to the side, casting a questioning glare towards me.

I raised my hand, smiling grimly. Pressed into my palm was the stick grenade from earlier, clutched like the self-destruct button of a doomed ship. I slipped off the pin with my finger, allowing it to clatter to the ground. "Go to hell," I said calmly, my hateful chuckle muffled only by the constriction around my stomach.

The Nightmaren's eyes widened as he realized exactly what was going on. He hurled me aside and darted off, trying to clear the grenade's lethal range. I hit the ground, tossed the grenade as hard as I could towards the river, and pulled down, expecting it to burst a moment after. There was one nice feature about most grenades I was aware of—very few of the fragments actually hit the ground, meaning that a prone figure was fairly safe from injury.

There was a splash of water, followed shortly by a loud _pop_ as the explosive detonated. There was a resonation of dropping iron upon its rippled surface as the grenade's fragments rained down all around it, the lethal rain harmlessly sinking to the bottom of the river.

As I stood up, I silently thanked myself for my intuition in saving it—I knew that grenade would come in handy later. I searched the riverbank for an obvious exit route so I could abscond before Reala realized just how badly he had been duped. I couldn't get back across the river—it was pretty wide here, and too deep to try fording. I could always try the forest, but seeing as how it lacked an apparent path, I might get lost… then again, that was the lesser of two evils, as compared to letting the Maren catch up with me again. Plus, I had to figure out where NiGHTS had gone off to—I had a sneaking suspicion she had been stuffed into another one of those cages. As much as a little time-out might do some good for a naughty jester like her, I did not relish the idea of having my new friend in the clutches of the Dark One any more than having myself in a similar position.

I gave the forest a long, scrutinizing glance, and stepped towards the first staggered row of trees. It was time to make like a Rebel Commando on Endor and strike out into the wilds.

Within a few moments I was deep within the forest. The trees grew wild and entangling. I tried to walk in a straight line, not to wind or deviate from my own beaten path, but there was too much brush, too many obstacles to make a clean affair of it. After a few minutes I grew frustrated with the undergrowth, and imagined a tool to hack them back with. A machete spawning in my palm, I began hacking my way through brambles and vines. I was not exactly sure where I was going, but neither could I return from where had I come, even if I could retrace my steps that far.

After perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes of bushwhacking, I came across a split in the trees, a clearing. Slashing through a few last wayward limbs and tendrils I stepped out of the forest, casting a suspicious glance to my surroundings. The clearing seemed to lead up a steep incline, into a cavern thirty feet above. I cautiously mounted the hill, attracted to the dark opening near its top.

It took me only a few moments to reach the top, a little tired by the steep incline, but still capable of continuing. I stepped into its darkened maw, and walked into a pit of darkness. For a few moments I stumbled around in the unlight, cautiously keeping a step, one hand placed against the wall of the cavern. The cavern became warmer and warmer as I delved deeper inside. Finally, one final bend in the path came into the light of a solitary torch. I maneuvered to it and peered around it, seeking whatever inhabited this strange place.

It was bright enough to discern clearly the chamber's contents. It was an ironworking room of sorts, complete with several large troughs of water and a large forge, glowing too intensely white to look upon for more than a moment. The forge had something special about it; it was hot, swelteringly hot, but it was a cool fire, not scorching like an oven, but more controlled, less harsh. The heat quickly brought lethargy along with it, and I had an intimate feeling that if I stood still or sat down for more than a few minutes I would nod off. The forge's deep breaths were measured, reassuring. The clang of smelted metal being wrought resounded through the air, and my vision turned towards the source of the sound. Standing astride a large anvil, some Everstone implement half-made in his hand, a Forgesmith practiced his trade. His hammer was nearly as glowering hot as the forge itself, for the Forgesmiths worked with the mightiest metals of all, the Control-enriched irons known as Everstone, which could be worked but through tremendous strength.

The Forgesmith, like most of his kin, was a burly figure, by weight and size easily three times my superior. He wore a cloak of heavy leather, the only cloth that could withstand the heats he so often worked around. Whether it caused him discomfort to wear such heavy clothes was a moot point, as Forgesmiths were impervious to fire, it and earth being their primary elements. Forgesmiths were a kind of Spherin, rather like the Lucians, but larger. Unlike their Seeing brethren, they were not afraid to show that their hands were connected not through arms, but simply by an invisible link of command. He had a presence of power, and his burly appearance sustained the fact.

Although the Forgesmith did not turn from his work, he spoke to me as though we were already well-acquainted. Perhaps we were; I had spent fair time designing his character. _I have been waiting for you, Narrator. I always know when a warrior comes my way._

"What are you doing here?" I looked around the cavern. "Seems to me like you'd be better suited to Aublade than this hole in the ground."

_A Forgesmith works wherever he is needed._ The craftsman stood up, laying his glowering hammer down on the anvil, and held up his masterpiece, a long-bladed sword still drooling Everstone from its molten edges. He raised his hand and, using his gauntlet, squeezed the impurities from the weapon's blade, honing its edge in one swift motion. The powerful Spherin dropped it into a basin of water, and it steamed fiercely for a few moments before settling.

_I have already fashioned a worthy tool for you._ The Forgesmith slowly glided over to a rack on the wall, seized something from it, and turned to me. Like Dreyer, a heavy iron helmet covered his entire head, save his single eye, a golden color as intense as the forge, and hard to look directly upon. His hand extended outwards, disembodied, and presented a glittering weapon to me. My eyes widened, and I jumped back a little. It was an Everstone-inlaid crossbow, small enough to be manageable, but large enough to be deadly to the minions of Darkness. It was studded in precious gems, and had been decorated in scrollwork, all of it in my favorite colors (green, silver, and black). Rather than a modern trigger, which the Forgesmith likely found unfashionable, it had an old-fashioned iron level to release its catch. I gently lifted the weapon into my arms. Being made of a compound whose secondary material had no physical mass, it was surprisingly light, but had a strong feel to it.

The Forgesmith watched my admirations with an unreadable expression. _You are pleased with it?_

"It's beautiful," I said. "How did you know how to make this…?"

_I have crafted blades for many great warriors, even as powerful as yourself. We Forgesmiths know much of warriors, and what they seek in a weapon. _ His hand withdrew and returned, clasping a short wooden quiver stocked full of Everstone-tipped crossbow bolts, fitted with a shoulder sling. I accepted the case, and slung its strap over my shoulder, allowing it to rest by my side.

_These bolts are special,_ the Forgesmith informed. _No harm shall they ever cause to the righteous, but to the Darkness they are fatal. Use them wisely, though. You only have twelve bolts, and though they can be recalled if missed, they will only strike once. _

"If I run out, I'll come back here for some more," I promised.

The Forgesmith nodded. _If you will need them, I will have them for you. In the meantime, you have things to attend to. _

I suddenly remembered my lost companion. "That's right, I've got to go find NiGHTS!" I paused. "But I'm not exactly sure where she is…"

_You may be able to spot her from the cave's entrance,_ the Forgesmith suggested, making his way back to the anvil.

I nodded. "Good idea. Thank you, sir."

The Forgesmith made no further reply, but simply returned to his work, taking a new bar from the forge and pounding it with his hammer. I left the cavern and headed back out of the cave.

Try though I might, I could not find NiGHTS. I sighed and rolled my eyes. Searching was dumb. An idea occurred to me; what if I teleported to her location? I might land straight in the middle of a trap, but I was armed, and neither Fright nor Nightmaren would be very eager to find themselves the recipients of one of my bolts. If Silver Crescent could Sideslip, then so could I. I raised my hand in the air, summoning the force of Power to my hand; there was a flash of green and silver. With a wave of my hand, my surroundings vanished, and I slipped away.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Five—Rescue

The ground met my feet with a crunch of leaves and a snap of a twig. Holding the crossbow in one hand, I quickly examined my surroundings. I had landed between two closely-spaced trees, sheltered behind a large shrub. I noted a small clearing, and the familiar silvery chain of that prison NiGHTS had found herself in previously. One of the Castle Guards was seated on top of it, looking quite malevolent. I saw no other creatures there.

I attempted to cock the crossbow against my chest, but it was too powerful for me to draw back all the way. I then noticed the gilt stirrup mounted on its front. Placing it on the ground, I slid one foot into the stirrup, seized the string with both hands, and pulling up with my legs, was able to cock it without any difficulty. I then raised it back to my chest, fitted a bolt, and took aim at the Guardsman. My hand compressed the release lever.

The crossbow shuddered as it released the projectile. The Everstone-tipped bolt streaked the air as it flew straight towards its target. It impacted with a shower of gold as its brassy head diffused into the body of the Guardsman's dark steed. The creature emitted a shrill shriek, and heeled over, its rider scrambling to keep from falling off. The Maren fell to the ground with a dull _thump_, and moved no more.

Seeing no more of the fell creatures, I cautiously advanced from cover. Just to be sure, I recocked my crossbow and slid the trigger sideways, locking it at the ready. I walked over to the cage.

A sudden, shrill _peeeeeeep_ resounded from over my shoulder. I swiveled around to look—there stood the Guardsman, grinning wickedly as he sounded wildly with a whistle. By the time I fitted a bolt to silence him, his comrades were already swooping over the trees, and making as though to tear me to pieces with the talons of their steeds.

I swiveled back around and fired, catching one of the creatures in the wing. It fell from the sky screaming, and smashed to the ground somewhere out of view. The third Guardsman remained unharmed, and pulling on the harness, directed his dragon-mount to sweep down towards me. It extended its feet and barbed claws as it closed the distance with the ground.

I leapt to the side, and very narrowly evaded being crushed underfoot by the bulky creature. The slash of wind from its wings knocked me to the ground; I landed right beneath its shadow. The dragon-mount pivoted around and tried to stomp on me with its clawed front limbs; I rolled over, dodging both of its arms. The rider turned his long lance over and thrust it down towards me; I somehow managed to catch its haft, holding its pale white ending hovering a few inches above my chest. The rider leaned forwards in the saddle, levering more weight onto the spear. I struggled as hard as I could to push it away, but slowly, very slowly, it was bending back my arms, creeping closer to my heart…

I heard NiGHTS' voice from somewhere behind me. "Narrator! Use your Creator powers!"

I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, towards the cage; quickly considering the words, I turned back towards the Guardsman. He was nearly on top of the spear—he might have been a very little guy, but I wasn't strong enough to hold on much longer. Fortunately, I didn't intend to. I jabbed the spear sideways; the Guardsman, surprised by my sudden shift in resistance, fumbled the weapon's haft in his hands. I twisted sideways, grabbed my crossbow, leveled it on the rider's dragon-mount, and with a scowl of indignation, jerked back the trigger. The crossbow trembled as a mass of pulsating energy shot off of its end. The plasma shot slammed right into the Maren's steed, tearing a gaping mass out of the dragon's back. The creature emitted a horrified shriek, thrashed around and bucked off its rider before melting to dust.

I quickly mounted my feet, cocked the crossbow, and fitted a bolt, checking around for anything I had missed. I was unsure where the guard had gone off to—both of them seemed to have followed their dragons into oblivion. It was a moot point. I spun around to face the prison that NiGHTS was chambered in. Taking aim at the lock, I charged the bolt with energy. The projectile's head gleamed, and then began to glower as a ball of plasma built up on its tip. When the entire bow began to quiver with the churn of energy, I fired the basketball-sized blast into the cage's lock. The plasma-charged arrow rocketed from the crossbow and smashed into the cage, melting the lock and the whole bottom of the cage into an unrecognizable blob of rapidly disintegrating darkmatter. The top portion of the cage smashed open.

"Woohoo!" NiGHTS jetted free of the cage, flying right towards me; I felt my crossbow leave me hands as she slammed into me and started constricting my rib cage in the strongest bear hug anyone had ever given me. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou_thankyou!_" she trilled merrily. After a few uncomfortable moments, she noticed my rather strangled expression, and releasing me, allowed me to draw air back into my longs and continue respiration.

The jester looked a little sheepish. "I'm sorry, did I do something wrong again?"

"Next time…" I gasped between breaths, "Try not… to flatten… my ribcage…"

NiGHTS looked around, forgetting very much the topic that I was still recuperating from. "Nice job with those Nightmaren, but we should get out of here before more of them come."

"Yeah." My rate of breathing was beginning to return to normal."Just give me a few moments… to catch my breath."

I retrieved my crossbow from where it lay on the ground. I contemplated reloading it, but decided against it. I had already spent three bolts, and I had to make the rest count. I could probably make some more plasma blasts if I needed to, so there was no need to waste precious ammunition.

I turned around to find NiGHTS staring with interest at the crossbow in my hands. "Ooh, pretty. Where'd you get it?"

I shrugged. "Oh, a friend gave it to me." I turned the weapon towards the ground and fitted it to a clip on the side of its quiver. "You okay, NiGHTS?"

"Oh, I'm fine—I'm _great_, now that I'm out of that cage!" NiGHTS beamed. "Come on, let's go explore some more!"

I reached out to take her hand. Right as I felt the familiar sensation of Dualization, however, a completely new factor entered into the process. I felt cold, freezing cold, like a dagger of ice had been thrust into my back. I lurched forwards; pain knifed and seared my insides. My lungs filled with ice, I couldn't breathe, I was drowning in freezing cold…

"_Narrator!_" NiGHTS forcibly shoved us apart. By the time I face-planted on the ground, instinctively wrenching up off the ground and remounting my feet, and whirled around to face the jester, I realized I no longer felt pain. I yelped when I noticed the long black haft protruding from NiGHTS' back. The jester's stare was disembodied, and I could see the light fading from her eyes.

I lunged forwards just as she doubled over, looking more dead than alive. She was not particularly heavy, but she was cold, like a box of frozen food removed from a freezer. "NiGHTS! _NiGHTS_!" I exclaimed, trying to get a response out of her. The jester murmured, and fell slack against me, her eyes sliding shut. She spoke no more, and my arms shook supporting her weight, my mind frozen with terror. NiGHTS couldn't die like that; she was too strong, too good, too _important_…

An eerie cackled attracted my attention; I looked up, casting my mortified look forwards. My eyes narrowed as I realized simultaneously where the white javelin had come from, and who had been throwing them at me all this time.

His body and arms were layered in a dark gray armor touched in some places with maroon and crimson, and he wore a long kama-kilt of gray and crimson mail, covering the fine joints of his shadowy armored legs, a dark smudge between the bands of gray. His hands were gauntlets of midnight gray, sharp and taloned, and twisted like those of a great bird's. He drew long, haggard breaths, interrupted with a throaty cackle as he met my gaze with his own. His insectoid eyes, cold and glossy with their many facets, were like two great reddish mirrors, giving a warped reflection of the surroundings they so cruelly parodied.

"Braer," I muttered. I allowed NiGHTS to slide from my grasp, not removing my gaze from my opponent. I then reached for my crossbow.

Braer was true to form, far too much to be trusted, although not unsuspected. This was the man who had turned against Silver Crescent, against the Empire, against all of the Terrene in pursuit of selfish power and satisfaction. The Feyaren Traitor was a foe to be reviled, for though born a Ward, he had fallen into the ranks of the Dark One's wickedest brood, and in combat was the most feared of all the Dark One's commanders. Backstabbing was more of a hobby than a duty to him, so familiar he was with its means, and the Pale Javelins he preferred to his sword were only a symbol of his wretchedness. Normally I could never consider roughing someone up, but for the likes of Braer, I was willing to add a clause. I could feel my blood boiling as I cocked my crossbow.

The traitor emitted one final chuckle, and then spoke in his icy voice, like dripping arsenic. "Hello, Narrator. I trust you are having a pleasant stay?"

"Go to hell, Braer," I retorted vehemently. I fitted a bolt and raised my crossbow to my shoulder, targeting his loathsome abdomen.

Braer did not move, but he did angle his head, affixing one of his glassy eyes upon me. "You truly believe I am that easy to end?"

I was no less enraged, but I did not fire, choosing instead to reply. "You die like all of your demon-kin, miserably, as abhorrent in death as life, if not better deceased."

Braer laughed softly. "Silver Crescent has fought me for twenty years now, and he has not succeeded in killing me. For what do you think you can exceed him?"

I hesitated firing. Something was wrong here. Braer knew I could shoot him, he knew these bolts were death to all the Dark One's spawn, himself included, and yet he made not the slightest effort to defend himself. Braer was a coward, a clever one if that; why would he do such a thing, unless he saw some advantage in it?

His stare was unmoving, unwavering. The answer was obvious. He didn't think I was strong enough to shoot him. "I'm a Creator," I growled. "I have complete control. Silver Crescent is but a minion of mine; my powers are far above his."

"A Creator, endowed in knowledge, and yet not wisdom," Braer remarked. "Your friend lies dying at your feet, and all you can consider is petty revenge. My death will not save her."

I glanced downwards, to where I had allowed NiGHTS to collapse; the jester had not moved in the least. I remembered what happened to me when I was hit with the javelin, how terrible I felt. Was NiGHTS going through that now?

I had to help NiGHTS, but how? I couldn't risk it with Braer there, he was just as likely to throw another one, or strike me down as well. Which risk was more demanding, saving NiGHTS or stopping Braer?

I hated tough choices, but I had to make a decision. So I did. I clamped the trigger of my crossbow, and immediately shifted my focus back to NiGHTS…

Braer rapidly regained my interest when he flashed sideways, nimbly dodging the projectile. By the time I realized what had happened, he had drawn his sword, a narrow blade as white as his javelin, yet far more deadly, and had rapidly stepped forwards, closing the gap between us. I raised my crossbow again, to fire. With one deft stroke of his arm, Braer knocked it clear out of my grasp, and sent it clattering several yards away.

Braer tipped the sword over in his hand and whacked me with his hilt, and then turned it back and knocked me to the ground with its flat. I nearly winded myself when I fell flat on my back, and tried to get up again. The fiend stepped on top of me, holding me down with one heavily-armored foot, and pointed his sword at my neck. I rapidly stopped moving, watching its gleaming white blade hover above my head.

"All too easy." Braer's unblinking visage eyed me blankly, no expression readable in it. "Fortunately for you, I am not interested in killing you. The Dark One has more use for you alive than dead."

Of course the Dark One had use for me. He could always use more Frights to serve him. I didn't remember ReTooling to be one of Braer's specialties, though, so perhaps he intended to take me captive until someone who did arrived.

I had to get away, but how? Braer was a Feyaren, covered in layer upon layer of heavy armor; he probably weighed twice as much as I did, besides being a whole lot stronger. Getting him off of me would be a chore enough. Even if I succeeded, he would probably beat me into unconsciousness with his sword. But I couldn't just sit around and wait for the Dark One to show up (as I was pretty sure at that point the Lord of All Evils would feel obliged to make his presence known and personally ReTool me, to make sure the job was done right). I had to do SOMETHING!

Weapons? No, I couldn't use weapons here; Braer's heavy armor would deter any blade I could bring to bear against him, and even at point blank a standard rifle round would do little to faze him. My crossbow was too far away to be of any use, and even if I did recall it, Braer would simply take it again from my hands. On foot he could not be outrun, nor outdone in mind, as he was both resilient and immensely clever.

Braer read my train of thought right off of my face. "Your situation is completely hopeless," he said flatly, swiveling his head down to gaze upon me. "I suppose that the Dark One would not object to me extracting your Ideya, then. I should like to see what the Creator experiences when he is in total control of his little world…"

The traitorous Ward held his free hand out, charging it with an aura of darkness. He angled it downwards. I thrashed and struggled against the foot that pinned me in place, but it was too impenetrable. The heat started to leave my body as he began draining the life from me. There was no hope left; I was doomed to die a horrible death…

Fortunately for me, there was one factor both Braer and I had overlooked in our struggle—one very important purple flying factor…


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Six: The Ancient Temple

NiGHTS' kick was strong enough to knock the fiend sideways, nearly off of his darkmatter-shod feet. Braer lashed out with his sword, but NiGHTS was a little too quick for him. She drew a brief swirl around him, and the Feyaren emitted a demonic screech as the Paraloop consumed him, sucking him into the abyss.

"You okay?" NiGHTS asked, looking me over quickly for injury.

"Are _you_?" I asked, bewildered. "There's a big spear sticking out of your back!"

"Oh, yeah, that." The jester twisted around, grabbed the weapon, and attempted to pull it free. She was not successful. "Wow, it's really stuck in there well…"

"Why are you not writhing in agony right now?" I asked her suspiciously. I found it hard enough to believe she was capable of moving after suffering such an injury, yet move she did, and without showing discomfort besides. "Either I don't give your perseverance enough credit or you have an incredible tolerance for punishment!"

"I am _very_ hard to dispose of," she said, giving me an enigmatic smile. "Now, are you going to help me with this? It doesn't harm me too much, but it would probably cause you some grief when we Dualize again…"

I grabbed the javelin's hilt and attempted to pull it out. It very well might have been fused to NiGHTS' skeletal structure, it was so solidly in there. I calmly held out a hand and imagined dousing the vicinity of its entrance in Order. There was a gold glow and a faint sizzling as the weapon's blade began to degrade.

Now NiGHTS was beginning to feel the effects of the darkmatter buried in her chest. "Oww, oww, _owwww_," she whined pitifully. "It's _burning_… _owwww_…"

I felt quite sordid myself about inflicting pain upon the jester, but it had to be done, and I comforted her as best I could. "Only a little more, NiGHTS… I've almost got it out…"

A moment later, feeling more than a little harried by the very piteous glances NiGHTS was casting me (I felt very thoroughly wretched receiving them), I seized the weapon's black hilt and slid it out from her. NiGHTS emitted one final sharp yelp and then was silent once more.

I tossed the half-ruined spear to the side. "Okay, that's that. Are you alright, NiGHTS?"

NiGHTS shuddered. "That was unpleasant," she said mournfully.

"The Dark One ensures that those who survive his workings suffer far more than those who are felled by them," I said bleakly. "Come on, let's go."

The mention of being able to continue seemed the perfect balm for NiGHTS' injuries; she immediately straightened back out and resumed her usual fluttering glee. "Yeah, let's go!" Forgetting the usual subtlety of requesting that I take her hand, she seized my wrist and pulled us together. We Dualized instantly, and in a heartbeat NiGHTS had taken us skywards, above the tops of the trees.

Above the canopy we stumbled upon a trail of orange rings. NiGHTS expressed some excitement with this, and pulled me towards them. By the time I had figured out what was happening she was pulling me through the rings, looping and twisting in order to not miss one. The rings vanished as we passed through them, each one adding a little speed as we went. We were going quite fast, quite gloriously fast. It was fun, really, ducking in and out of the spiraled path through the sky. If I took some pleasure in it, NiGHTS was jubilant; as our connection ebbed closer and farther, I shared in the wonderful joy of the jester's favorite pastime. We went from loop to loop, circle to circle, accelerating rapidly to an immense speed. NiGHTS was counting the rings off in her mind as we zipped through them. I heard her voice, but paid it no attention, listening more to her gleeful tone than any of the numbers or words she was saying. I really didn't need to know what she was saying. I had a feeling for what it was, even as she was speaking, as though the effort itself was completely fruitless.

Perhaps it had been minutes, perhaps hours, but it felt like ages, yet moments, before the trail led off, and we slowly glided down to our normal pace. I flipped over onto my back, lazily viewing the mass of green and gray beneath us, casually paddling backwards through the air. With the loss of activity came the degradation of our proximity, and I was diverse enough from NiGHTS to foster idle conversation with her. "You are really easy to please, do you know that?"

The jester glanced towards me, a bemused expression on her rather ethereal face. "So are you. We passed over a whole bunch of boring old stone thingies and you didn't even hesitate in leaving them behind."

"Boring old stone thingies, huh?" I looked over to my right, smiling grimly. "Like that Forerunner construct over there?"

NiGHTS sighed. "Yes. Like that one there."

Jutting out from the forest like a high abutment, a tall, narrow building of ghostly white metal towered above the brush below. As I moved in closer to investigate it, ignoring NiGHTS' incessant grumbling, I became only more thoroughly convinced that it was indeed one of the edifices of the ancient Forerunners of Halo fame. As I came beneath the canopy, I noted that it had a large landing pad, almost a veranda, in front of an opening leading into its depths.

NiGHTS was not being particularly compliant with my desire to get around inside the temple. I could feel her pulling at me, pushing me, trying to distract me with something she found more interesting. I sighed, scowled, and compromised. Using my godly powers, I caused a trail of rings to appear, trailing into the structure's interior. I imagined them tracing its interior, looping, twisting, doubling back amidst the ancient halls of the Forerunners. NiGHTS noticed the rings and, like clockwork, all else was forgotten. With a thrilled giggle, she abruptly pulled around, tugging now in the same direction I was.

I couldn't resist taking a shot at her. "Have you suddenly repented your argumentative ways, NiGHTS?"

If NiGHTS had any inkling what I had done, she surely did not care, as considering my deceit was all too far from her at the time. _Rings, rings, rings! Let's go play with them!_

I smiled; all too easy. "Okay. Let's go fly through the pretty rings."

The inside of the temple was a snapshot from Bloody Gulch and that incredibly awesome Halo demo I had once bootlegged off the Internet. I spent plenty of time admiring its delicacy, its intricacy, its familiar and yet foreign architecture. And rings, oh yes, I could hardly ignore the rings, as NiGHTS was so firmly set upon passing through every single one in sequence. You'd think that she would become obsessed with far more tangible things, but no, NiGHTS' greatest aspiration was apparently to pass through endless lines of these rings. Although a nice show, her acrobatics seemed a bit irrelevant to me. Of all the things she could have taken up as hobbies, she had to pick the activities I would consider the greatest wastes of time…

It was hard to argue with someone who was so happy with themselves, though. Of all the things NiGHTS _could_ have chosen to devote herself to, I suppose this was the one she would most logically be able to accomplish. There was something intoxicating about the way she moved, particularly when having something to maneuver around. It occurred to me briefly as an explanation for the jester's erratic behavior—if she had done this for long enough, might she have whitewashed herself into some kind of reoccurring memory defect? It seemed viable enough to me. Many of the addictive behaviors I was familiar with carried side-effects, a disregard for the necessities of life among them, and it would go a very long way in explaining why NiGHTS was such a hapless twit. To test my theory, I asked her what the longest chain of rings she had ever made was…

NiGHTS' voice was a curt whisper, very clearly from _out_side my head. "Does that make me crazy, Narrator?"

I very suddenly noticed several things in rapid succession. NiGHTS' head, complete with a crooked smile and a very dangerous gleam in her eyes. A soft, somewhat cushiony surface, maybe two thirds the width of my own person, which I was very precariously balanced on top of. A strong force downwards (gravity) and several varying forces backwards (momentum). And the gut-wrenching desperation one suddenly experiences just as one plummets from the sky.

Right before I fell off of her, NiGHTS rejoined with me. The jester's howling laugh, something between an evil cackle and a very feminine giggle, knifed through the veil of terror that had seized my mind. I recovered fairly quickly, swapping my surprise for severe irritation and (for reasons I preferred not to explore) a rather fuzzy feeling of discomfiture. _What the hell, NiGHTS? YOU ALMOST FREAKING KILLED ME!_

NiGHTS pealed with laughter. _What, can't fly so well on your own, huh? That look on your face—PRICELESS!_

I restrained a sudden impulse to sock her, due more to my own cagey nature than the obvious futility of punching someone whose body I currently shared. _It's not funny, NiGHTS! God, why the hell do you like scaring me? You're like a Fright, all the times you do this to me…_

NiGHTS suddenly became a bit withdrawn; she stopped laughing. For a moment I thought that perhaps she had grasped the gravity of the childish act she had just partaken of. She did speak, although sounding a little offended herself. _I'm not deaf, Narrator. I can listen to your thoughts. A lot more than you think I can, too._

I sighed. _Oh, great. Nice to know that someone is taking time out of their very valuable schedule to torment me with my own thoughts._

_I was just playing with you,_ NiGHTS said matter-of-factly. _You just can't take a joke._

_ I don't like being "played" with, NiGHTS. And yes, I can't take a joke. I'm famous for not taking jokes. I can give them, but I can't take them. I'm a first-class hypocrite. Any other lousy facts I should state about my defective personality?_

_I didn't mean that in a bad way_, NiGHTS objected.

_The meaning is implied. Besides, it's true. I am a hypocrite, a slacker, and above all a failure. My inability to comprehend humor is evidence of it._

_Hey, hey, hey,_ the jester said gently. _You're not a slacker, not a hypocrite, and definitely not a failure. Don't be so hard on yourself. I think you're perfectly fine._

_I'm not, though._ I felt as vacant as my voice, cold and hollow. _I'm not like you. I'm not so perfect and infallible. I don't really fit in anywhere, really._

_You don't have to be perfect, Narrator. You need to be who you want to be. _

I was feeling quite melancholy and was deaf to such warm words. Without thinking, I brushed her off, like I did everyone else who I didn't want help from. _It's okay, NiGHTS, I get it._

NiGHTS was not so easily misled, however, and continued to press her point. _No, you don't. Be who you want to be, Narrator. You don't have to follow anyone if you don't want to._

I snorted with frustration. _What the hell are you talking about? I live my life in the shadows of the people around me. My parents, my teachers, my employers. They give commands, they set the way, and I follow them. I'm nothing but another son, another student, another worker, another name to remember and another mouth to feed. _

_You are completely unique, Narrator. That's what makes you special, it's what makes everyone special. We're all our own people._

It was a wonderful theory, but it was only that; shallow, with more evidence against than for. _I'm nothing but a bother to everyone else around me. Even you. I'd imagine there's a lot of Visitors who are more fun to hang out with than a bore like me._

_You really DO believe you're useless, don't you?_ NiGHTS sighed. _No one is useless, Narrator. Everyone has a purpose. You have an awfully big one right here. This is YOUR Nightopia, after all, and only YOU can give it what it needs to thrive._

_This place is another part of me, just as battered and broken as the weak soul it mirrors. It's completely doomed, gloriously so, but doomed nonetheless._

NiGHTS sighed. She shifted our connection a little further away, so that she was floating right next to me. She reached over and touched my cheek, guiding my head to face hers. "Look at me, Narrator. Look into my eyes."

I watched her nervously, feeling quite small as I did. NiGHTS had huge sapphire eyes, deep and rich, like a fathomless sea, which swirled and sparkled with all the light of the world. Her gaze was unblinking, but not harsh; I felt quite serene meeting her bright gaze. I straightened out my back a little, regaining some of my hunched composure.

"You're looking for something," she said softly. "Something you want very badly. Not just your Ideya, either, it's something bigger than that."

"I… I don't know what I'm looking for," I said sadly. "I _feel_ like I do, but… I don't know what it is."

NiGHTS nodded sympathetically. "You will find it here, whatever it is. You just need to keep looking."

"I want to believe you, NiGHTS…" I looked away from her, a bit dismayed. "But… I can't. I'm chasing a beam of light; I can see it, but I can never hold it."

The jester nudged my shoulder. "In your dreams, Narrator, you can find whatever you want to. The night isn't over yet."

A soft sound from somewhere behind me distracted my train of thought. "Did you hear something, NiGHTS?"

NiGHTS gave me a surprised look. "I think I did. Sounded kinda metallic to me."

"Yeah, like someone clashing two trashcan lids together…" The sounded echoed again, a little more prominent. "Or… clashing _swords_ together…"

I looked down one of the side halls, where the sound seemed to be coming from. "Maybe we should check that out."

NiGHTS agreed with me, and we darted off down the hallway in search of the mysterious sound's origins.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Seven: The Two Swordsmen

A short, winding hallway lead out into a great cavern lit by rows of openings in the wall, a kind of glass or clear metal of some kind that let in light and a nice view of the surrounding forest. The floor was a mosaic of sorts, inlaid with a variety of colored patterns very much to the Forerunner's enigmatic tastes. Atop the floor, to my utmost surprise, NiGHTS and I discovered the makers of the sounds locked in pitched combat.

Blazing from unseen speakers, the all-too-familiar combat theme from Fire Emblem played as the mighty Black Knight lunged forwards, swinging the sacred sword Alondite around his head in a deadly arc. Raising his arms, he brought the massive claymore down and slashed away in a fury as he bit into his foe with his signature showstopper, the frightful Eclipse and its jaw-dropping trainload of unstoppable fury. He executed the slaughtering move with silent precision, uttering nary a grunt from the heft of the considerable weapon in his grasp.

Battling the blows with his energy sword, no less a famous figure defended himself flawlessly against the Black Knight's assault, protected by his shield and silvery armor. The Arbiter from Halo snarled as he ducked and riposted, stabbing the shimmering weapon towards the Black Knight. Its bright blade bounced harmlessly off of the Black Knight's sacred armor, which no mortal weapon could touch.

I separated from NiGHTS, stepping out onto solid ground, staring with frank amazement. Right before me, two of the mightiest honor-bound heroes strove against one another in pitched combat. I nearly expected to see a choir of angels or a great fiery chasm rent into the ground, so epic was the battle!

NiGHTS gave the two an odd look. "Who are those dudes?"

"That is the Black Knight, from Fire Emblem, and the Arbiter from Halo," I explained. "Two of the coolest guys I know, and as you can see, the Gods of Gaming here do battle."

The Arbiter and Black Knight stared each other down just out of one another's reach, the armor-clad human in sullen silence, the Sangheili warrior emitting a faint growl from his mandibled visage. In another moment they were at it, slashing, hacking and stabbing as though to show off their indomitability.

"Gods of Gaming?" NiGHTS asked.

I nodded. "Level Eleven kind of cool. They're so bad they're _good_, in a very awesome way. The only guy we're missing here is Darth Revan from Star Wars, probably because the universe could not contain so much awesome in any one place at one time."

NiGHTS smiled wryly. "I take it you're a fan?"

I sighed, smirking. "I do not worship the good-looking, only the awesome. Arbiter and BK is about as good as awesome gets, minus Revan of course."

"Then why are they fighting?"

I shrugged. "It's beyond _me_ why. I'll ask them."

I turned towards the dueling duo. "Hey! You with the swords! What do you think you're doing?"

The Arbiter and the Black Knight paused and then swiveled around, giving me rather irritated looks. "We are _busy_ right now," the Arbiter growled. "Why do you disturb us?"

"Yeah, well, why are you two fighting? Did the Black Knight curse your ancestry or something?"

"_None of your business_," the Black Knight said in his shallow gasp of a voice.

"It definitely _is_ my business, since it's happening in my Forerunner tower," I said stiffly. "So what cause for the argument, huh? It doesn't look like you two were just sparring there…"

The Arbiter hissed. "This idiot in the shiny black said that _he_ was a better swordsman than I. I demanded a test of it."

"How long have you been at it?" I asked, not in the least surprised over their rather trite motives.

"_Three hours,_" the Black Knight grumbled. "_This squid-headed creature has somehow survived twenty-three Eclipses during that period._"

I moaned softly. "For gods of this world you two are not that bright. Don't you two understand _why_ you've been fighting each other for _three hours_ without inflicting any lasting injury upon one another?"

The Black Knight rested his sword on his shoulder; the Arbiter flexed his arms, looking slightly discomfited.

"You know why?" NiGHTS asked.

I chuckled. "Of course I do. The Black Knight regenerates his health automatically and has a defense value that would stop an incoming eighteen-wheeler. The Arbiter has an Overshield, which the BK's sword probably can't penetrate and of course automatically restores itself whenever damaged. They're both good enough swordsmen to avoid critical hits, and because they keep taking fifteen-second breaks to stare at one another they simply heal whatever minor harm they have sustained. Seriously, any half-rate gamer could have figured THAT out on his lonesome!"

"_Oh._" The Black Knight looked towards the Arbiter, and they promptly exchanged surprised glances.

"Of course, a bunch of honor-bound imbeciles like _you_ would be a little too busy making amends the old-fashioned way to even consider such a possibility." I waved a hand in the air. "As much as it _is_ what makes you two above awesome, chivalry isn't always the best policy."

"Well, if we can't beat each other in personal combat, how can we determine who is cooler?" the Arbiter asked, crossing his arms.

"Coolness is relative, Arby," I replied curtly.

NiGHTS yawned and reclined in midair. "I'm bored."

"And I'm quite thrilled, since I've just ran into two of my favorite video game characters at once," I replied. I turned back towards the dueling duo. "I'd ask for autographs, but I don't have a pad or a pen with me at the moment…"

"Booorring!" NiGHTS grabbed my shoulders from behind and starting tugging me backwards. "C'mon, let's go play somewhere else!"

"What exactly do you want to do now, fly through more endless lines of rings?" I asked cynically. I did not feel my usual need to free myself from her grasp (I was getting used to her rather rough handling of my person) but I did give her a questioning look.

The jester bobbed her head, still brightly grinning. "Sure!"

"Of course you do. Well, to be quite honest I'd rather not, since I can think of much better things to be doing…"

Hard though it was to imagine, NiGHTS began giving me the wounded puppy look. She even whimpered a little. She succeeded in guilting me into changing my mind. "Okay, okay, we can do more trick flying! There, happy now?"

Right on cue, NiGHTS beamed again.

The Black Knight chuckled from somewhere over my shoulder. "_She lead you right into that one._"

I swiveled around to face him. "I know you have plenty of experience in being lead by the ears, Mr. Loyal-Servant-of-Idiot-Sephiran."

The Black Knight was not fazed by my comment; such comebacks were far beneath his level of warranting offense at. He simply drew his arms across his chest. "_Your violet companion seems to be even less intelligent company than Sephiran was._"

NiGHTS grabbed my arm and started pulling on me again. "I wanna go flying! I wanna go flying!"

"You have _no_ manners, do you know that?" I scolded. I relented to being ushered across the room.

I could hear Arbiter speaking to the Black Knight. "How cute. She's got him right around her hand."

The Black Knight nodded. "_That kid has weird tastes in women._"

"Gee, _thank you_ for the commentary!" I retorted sharply, indicating my involvement in their discourse. I made a motion to walk back towards them, but NiGHTS gave a sharp yank on my arm and continued moving me towards the entrance on the end of the room.

We were halfway to the door when there was a sudden ominous fanfare. I recognized it immediately. "What the… the Fire Emblem battle theme?"

I turned around. I already knew what was about to happen, of course. I pulled my crossbow up from my side. It was time to do epic battle, a la medieval RPG.

"I figured you would be in here." Resting his javelin on his shoulder, Braer cast his cold gaze across the chamber. "Running and hiding was always your strong point, Narrator."

"You are not one to talk, fiend," I replied, scowling. "Get out of here before I evict you in the most forcible manner possible."

Braer chuckled. "Oh, I will gladly show myself out, once I have attended to a few personal matters here. Think fast, Narrator!"

He hurled his javelin towards me. I somehow managed to deflect it by striking it with my crossbow, sending it clattering to the ground somewhere behind me. By the time I looked back towards Braer, he had already skittered to the opposite side of the room. "Look who's running now, Braer!" I called after him.

"You will have _wished_ you had been my captive," Braer shouted back from the doorway. "I shall return for your comatose body in a few minutes; have fun with Firemind!"

I stepped forwards and fired a blast of energy at him, but he ducked around the corner and out of sight. Before I could get any farther the ground beneath me began to shake. The floor in the middle of the room began to pulsate and crack; the Black Knight and Arbiter, standing nearby, shied away from it in opposite directions. Spouts of burning lava began to shoot out from the fissure; a splattering stream quickly became a rushing torrent. Molten rock began to pool in the middle of the floor, spreading sideways at a frightening frequency. I heard a sizzling sound; I looked up, and was horrified to see lava and flames dripping from the corners of the roof and the walls. The room was filling with a pool of searing-hot material.

"Narrator! You've got to get off the ground!" NiGHTS shouted. "C'mon, Dualize with me!" I did so without any hesitancy as the lava began to close around where I had been standing. I rose with NiGHTS into the air, although I could still feel the tremendous heat of the stuff. "Where's the BK and Arbiter?" I asked.

"Arbiter's up there," NiGHTS said, motioning to the ceiling. The warrior had apparently scaled a wall and was now hidden in an archway, safe from the flow. The Black Knight just stood there as lava surged around his feet—apparently the awesomeness of his armor kept the stuff from coming within a foot of him, and the BK himself was too tough to care about the rise in heat.

A sound like a coursing wind filled the chamber. A geyser spluttered and shot up from the fissure; lava rose and formed a great arced shape maned in flames. With a plume of smoke a long metal shape formed on its edge, framing in a head like a great serpent's, slitted on both sides for a pair of glowering ember-eyes. The fire-creature straightened up, rising to nearly the height of the chamber, and spat a mass of flaming lava into the air. Its eyes smoked and smoldered as it let loose another grinding cry. The lava on it, and the layer that was already spread across the entire floor, flared with tongues of flame. The creature turned towards me, breathing a plume of hot ash and sparks as it loomed ominously in the center of the room.

NiGHTS had merged closer with me, and I with her. _What IS that thing?_

I watched the monstrosity with the same wariness as NiGHTS. That is Firemind. I think he wants to kill us.

The creature roared again, and we tensed for battle.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Eight: Beast of Fire

I ducked to the side just as Firemind reeled and hurled a torrent of flaming lava at NiGHTS and I. The molten stone sizzled as it splashed on the ground; I could feel its immense heat even as it skidded by. Even from a few feet it was witheringly hot, like the heat of a raku kiln I once baked with at school. The prospect of being struck by the stuff terrified me.

_You've got to keep a hold of yourself,_ NiGHTS reminded me sharply, guiding me away from the beast's line of fire. _If you get scared and you fall, it isn't going to be very pleasant for you!_

The lava coated the ground and the walls, and drowned out the ceiling in a pillar of fumes. NiGHTS seemed to have no trouble breathing it, and fortunately, as my human lungs would likely have been scalded flying around amidst such toxic air. It was little more than a visual distraction to NiGHTS, whose physical abilities could hardly be compared to the likes of mine. Using the cloud as cover, we attempted to navigate around the creature. It blindly fired flames at us, but its accuracy was poor against such a creature as NiGHTS. After a few attempts we got behind it, to examine its flame-shrouded back for any sort of vulnerability.

Our situation did not look very good. We of course could hardly touch a creature made of burning rock without harming ourselves quite badly in the process, and due to the flames and its excellent awareness (we had perhaps moments before it reasoned our position and turned about). I wondered if we could Paraloop its head; NiGHTS sounded doubtful, as though she didn't want to risk a run on it. _This is a powerful Maren, and I don't think we could get rid of it that easily. Most of the strong ones take some thinking—there's got to be some place that isn't too hot to hit…_

I sighed. If it was _my_ choice, NiGHTS, I would hit it with a big ball of water, make it harden, and then smash it into pieces.

_That's a GREAT idea_, NiGHTS said, _But where are we gonna get water in this place?_

Oh, I don't know, the sprinkler system maybe! I paused, suddenly realizing the intelligence of my sarcastic remark. The sprinklers… oh, I HOPE those Forerunners put an emergency turn-on switch somewhere…

Firemind wheeled around, spewing sooty lava in our direction. We pulled away and nimbly dodged the arcing attack, narrowly escaping a rather nasty fate. I guided NiGHTS over to where the Arbiter was lurking, watching the scene with dismay. "Hey, Arby! Can you give us a hand here?"

The Sangeheili clicked his mandibles. "I suppose that's better than sitting and watching. How can I assist you?"

"Fire control, Arbiter. Do the Forerunners have a sprinkler system?"

The Arbiter shrugged. "I do not know. If they did, it would probably be automatically activated."

"And if it's _not_?"

Arby motioned over his shoulder. "Check the main control room. The computer will probably be able to turn it on for you."

I looked towards the entrance he signified; it was dripping with molten stone. "Okay. So, if we go run and switch on the waterworks, can you distract the big guy?"

The Arbiter pulled up a plasma rifle from his side. "I'll do my utmost. Let's just hope that Black Knight guy gets the hint and assists me before I get baked."

I bobbed my (NiGHTS') head. "We'll be as brief as possible. Good luck!"

As NiGHTS and I darted for the entryway, Firemind pivoted towards us, rearing to throw more flames at our back. The Arbiter fired at him with his plasma rifle; Firemind did not seem particularly harmed by it, already being quite heated himself, but did turn his attention to the side. As we neared the entrance I heard the sound of clanking metal and Fire Emblem battle theme as the Black Knight joined his former opponent in distracting the creature.

So, NiGHTS, how are we going to get through that lava-dripping doorway?

_Like this._ NiGHTS pulled into a tight spiral and accelerated through. A few drops fell towards us, but she deflected them with her streamer, and we shot up the hallways towards the control room.

It only took us a few moments to get there. The control room was not particularly small, but it did have a very large mass of advanced-looking computers that made it seem a little squashed. I flew right up to the largest, most important-looking screen. "Hey, Computer, we need a little help here!"

"I will be happy to help you, Creator," an eclectic voice chimed from my side. I turned and found a small Forerunner machine the size of a basketball, easily recognizable to any Halo fan as a Monitor, a Forerunner librarian of sorts who kept after their installations. As if on cue, the machine introduced itself, its glowing eye flickering silver as it spoke. "My name is Eight-Forty-Eight Lost Cause. Welcome to the Nightopia Forerunner Installation Eight, Creator."

"Yeah, hey there Lost," I said, feeling a bit disconcerted at the machine's flat, unquestioning manner. "We've got a bit of a fire problem in the central chamber down the hall, and we really need to turn on the sprinklers."

"Sprinklers?" Lost swiveled slightly in midair, as though tilting his head. "I was not aware such primitive systems would be useful in such an advanced installation as this… what might be the problem to require them?"

"Well, for starters a huge lava-snake is flooding the entire compound in molten magma," I said flatly. "If we can cool it down, we can smash it up, but until then we can't do squat against it."

"A lava-snake, you say? Well, that certainly justifies some response. I will send support to the area," Lost affirmed, "And I will turn on the water systems." He began to float away, towards the entrance we had come through. "I must further investigate this case…"

I followed him out, a bit curious. "Investigate? Why?"

"This installation was built to research the curiosities of Nightopia, be they Nightmaren or otherwise," Lost Cause said nonchalantly as we navigated down a flight of stairs. "This presents an excellent opportunity to further research these intriguing specimens, before it slips away from our grasp."

"Why are you researching them, though?" I asked, still curious as to why the Forerunners would want to study something I found so simple.

Lost Cause pivoted in place, facing me as he flew backwards. "The Creator orders so." He then turned back around and spoke no more.

_What a whacko machine,_ NiGHTS commented. In some ways I agreed with her.

We finally reached the cavern, although we had some trouble navigating through the door as the lava had blocked it halfway up. Firemind was busy battling the Arbiter and the Black Knight, who were alternating throwing attacks at it to keep it from launching an accurate blast at either of them.

"This does seem to be a problem," Lost Cause commented. "Engaging fire control systems now."

There was a hiss of pressurized water as a vapor mist sprayed out from the ceiling, directly onto Firemind. The creature shrieked and thrashed as its fiery surface began to sizzle. It hurled volumes of soot and ash into the air from its head, and NiGHTS was forced to pull me into evasive maneuvers (Lost had a shield of some sort that protected him from any harm). After a few moments, its body blackened, and Firemind stiffened into an unmoving stance, petrified through its loss of heat.

_We've got to hit it quickly,_ NiGHTS said, and we dashed over to the creature. We drew a quick circle around its head; there was a flash of light, and with a single Paraloop we severed its brittle head from its neck. Firemind emitted one final screech and melted to a darkmatter dust. The lava in the chamber quickly receded, and within a few moments not a trace of its existence remained.

"How very curious." Lost Cause eyed the round with as much surprise as he could muster from his robotic mind. "It would seem as if the creature's habitat is tied to its existence."

_Powerful Nightmaren possess a strong link to Nightmare,_ NiGHTS commented. _They can bring their dark world along with them. _

Lost Cause sighed. "So much we know, and so much we have yet to learn… I suppose that does help dignify this facility's existence."

"If you're so interested in learning about Nightmaren, you should probably send out scouts from the facility," I suggested. "I run into tons of them out there."

The machine swiveled to face me. "Would it not be much more efficient to simply accompany you? It is against my programming to leave this facility. We must consider the Lord of Nightmares, you know, and what he might wish to do with a facility such as this was it unguarded."

"You didn't seem to do such a good job of guarding if they can still get in," I commented dryly.

"The halls of this facility are redundant to its purpose," Lost countered. "As you can see, we store nothing in here. It is only spare space, for which we have not yet found a purpose, but should we discover one, it is here."

"It still doesn't seem safe to let Maren stroll the halls freely, Lost. I mean, just think of what might happen if—"

A curt, knifing, all-too-familiar voice cut me off. "If a very strong one might chance to walk by?"

I whirled around, expecting to see a javelin whizzing my way, since Braer had introduced his presence in such a way before. The Feyaren traitor was simply standing there, a few feet behind me, arms crossed.

"I suppose I have underestimated you, Narrator," Braer continued blandly. "I am not surprised that you have done away with such a witless beast as Firemind. I _am_ more intrigued to know how you might fair against a more superior foe."

"Haven't I already trashed you enough?" I questioned, giving him a look.

Braer chuckled. "I have begun to fight, it is true. My dark Master, on the other hand, is just getting _started_ on you. As are his more powerful subjects..."

"More powerful subjects?" Now NiGHTS was speaking; I shifted to silhouette. "Like who, Reala? Well, we've already whipped him a couple of times too!"

"Do not make the mistake of thinking that the Dark One is as linear in thinking as you are," Braer stated with a tone of irritancy. "He is ancient, wise, and learned, and he knows much of Visitors, oh yes, much of _you_, Narrator. It would be quite _imprudent_ of you to try him, for the Dark One is merciful, but his wrath once aroused is terrible and great."

"The Lord of the Nightmares knows no mercy, only cruelty," I retorted. "Just like you do, Braer. Bring your pestilence elsewhere and leave me alone already!"

"Oh, I will leave, just as I have promised." Braer shifted his shoulders, his glossy gaze unmoving. "With you in tow, in whatever condition you should allow to be taken in. Now, if you will excuse me, I must part you from the company of your little purple friend."

Braer's Feyaren reflexes were frightfully quick; in the merest of moments he had drawn his sword and struck out with it. NiGHTS was a little quicker, though, and she pulled me to safety.

Braer straightened back up, rumbling with guttural laughter. "Hhm hhm _hmmm_. You are quick on your feet, it would seem, but are you are not nearly so adept in mind."

"What the hell are you—"

A huge, heavy object slammed into me from the rear; the world went black around me.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Nine: Confrontation

I heard NiGHTS yelp from somewhere over my shoulder, and before I could entirely grasp the concept that we had parted company the ground rose to meet me. I smashed against the floor, winding myself quite badly, and actually bounced a few times as I slid to a painful halt. I tried to get up, but it took a few attempts. Panting like mad, trying to catch my breath, the burning on the inside of my chest was enough to make me stagger.

I looked up to see Reala levitating right next to Braer, looking quite pleased with himself. "Well, that was astonishingly _easy_," he commented dryly. "The idiot didn't even see it coming…"

I looked over to the side. NiGHTS apparently had got the worse end of it; I could see her leg sticking out of the wall, twitching a little. I immediately dashed for her, and nearly partitioned myself on Braer's sword as he extended it out in front of me. "You're not going anywhere but with _me!_" He grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and pulled me backwards. I reached for my crossbow; he slashed its sling right off of my quiver, and it fell from my reach.

"You won't be needing _that_ anymore," Reala commented, floating over to where the crossbow had fallen. "Little children shouldn't play with weapons, they're too _dangerous_ for you."

Before I could protest his rather unbecoming statement, Reala brought his foot down on my crossbow. It splintered and smashed into a mangled heap of wood and iron. "I'll be taking the Visitor now," he continued, looking towards Braer.

Braer gave him an odd look. "He is quite secure in _my_ capable hands," the Feyaren replied, a questioning tone in his voice.

Reala did not react well to this show of arrogance. "Wiseman told _me_ to retrieve the Visitor, not you, you mangy turncoat."

"I beg your pardon?" Braer pointed his sword accusingly at Braer. "I'd say you're _just_ as much a backstabber as I am, for starters. The Dark Lord told _us_ to retrieve the Visitor, not just _you_. I _am_ a General, and I wouldn't question it if I was you."

"You're a lesser general, you insubordinate cretin, and you will do as you are told," Reala snarled. He cracked his knuckles. "Unless you'd rather I beat that message into you?"

"We have more important things to do than fight each other, Reala—Wiseman will kill us _both_ if we don't bring him this Visitor."

The idea of a villain power struggle was very appealing to me. I could think of more than a few good tricks to turn it to my advantage. Braer did not have a particularly good hold on me, since I was mostly unrestrained…

"If _I_ bring him the Visitor, since _you_ are obviously incompetent!" Reala snapped back.

"Incompetent, am I now? Well, let me tell you something, you imbecilic—"

I conjured a stick grenade, pulled the pin out of the handle, and handed it to Braer. "Here ya go!"

Braer convulsed when he realized what it was. "_Aaack_!" He tossed it to Reala, who reacted in much the same way, quickly pitching it away from him. With the two distracted I slammed my shoulder against Braer, jostling his grip, and leapt away from him.

In my head I was counting numbers; the grenade would go off quite shortly. Just as Braer lunged after me, I jumped down off my feet to the ground, covering my head. There was a tremendous _WHAM_ as the grenade went off, followed shortly by a blinding flash. The sound left me shaken, but I was not quite as badly incapacitated by the stun grenade as Braer was (he was scrubbing at his eyes, staggering and notably shocked). Making a drawing motion, I summoned a pistol, a green-tinted Creylon like Silver Crescent preferred, and took aim to fire at him. I was interrupted, notably so, when someone grabbed me from the rear and shook me around hard enough to scramble my mind; I fumbled the gun as my vision reeled. "Nice try, Visitor," Reala hissed in my ear, "but fruitless."

I swatted at him with my hand; he socked me right in the midsection, knocking all the air out of me. "Now, I'm rather annoyed with your antics, Visitor." I tried to recover; he struck me in the head, sending my glasses flying. Kaleidoscope vision improved my situation in no way at all. "Not so powerful without our little purple friend, are we?"

He wound up for another hit (which probably would have knocked me fully prone and broken half the bones in my body), but was interrupted when NiGHTS suddenly reappeared and jumped on top of him, grabbing him in a headlock. "YOU BASTARD, REALA!" she bellowed. The violet jester flung the Maren general overhead; Reala recovered in midair, scowled, and dashed back to her, coming in feet-first.

I looked around; the black frames of my glasses stood out prominently from the soft gray of the floor. I ran over to them, scooped them back up, and replaced them on my face. Reala had failed to break the lenses (fortunately), but he had knocked the frame out of whack, and it no longer fit comfortably. After twisting them roughly back into shape, I returned to the situation at hand. Reala was getting the better of NiGHTS, since they were so close together and he was the better brawler of the two. As I did not want to see NiGHTS get her violet keister handed to her by the Maren General, I decided to help in the way I could best. I reached over to the wall, envisioned a big red button, and smacked it.

An air-raid siren began playing from somewhere far off. Within a few seconds, mechanical soldiers began to flood into the room. They looked nothing at all like the Sentinels from Halo, which I had been expecting; they were formed from triangular pieces of metal giving the appearance of a humanoid form, possessing a single glowing eye and a long, radiating plasma sword on each arm. The machines rushed forwards, hovering through midair without so much as brushing the ground, and began to slash at Reala, who quickly stopped bashing NiGHTS against a wall and began smashing machines instead. The burly Nightmaren punched out one, two, three, four, and five of the machines, breaking right through their protective armor, but once they began to pool around him he took to the air, narrowly avoiding a number of sword swipes as he backed away. The machines continued to pour in from the hallway nearest to me, accompanied by a different model armed with a plasma cannon and a single manipulator in place of swords. With a single well-placed blast, the guard robot took Reala out of the air, sending him crashing to the ground.

Metal sang directly to my right; I turned to see Braer, pale blade in hand, hacking his way through the rows of machines. He beheaded the one nearest to me and lunged for me; I backed away, allowing a machine to take my place. It exchanged blows with him briefly before he hacked off its weapons and then knocked it aside with a horizontal blow.

"You think you're so clever, Narrator?" Braer snarled. He cut down another machine as it tried to stab him. "Well, two can play at this game! We'll see whose troops fight better!"

There was a clatter of heavy feet from the other end of the hall. More Feyaren, the elitist ranks Braer himself commanded, ran out into the hall, swinging a variety of swords, axes, lances, and darkmatter guns. In four strides they spanned the distance and crashed into the writhing mob of mechanical soldiers, hacking and blasting their way through them with zeal.

"Now, you're coming with _ME_!" Braer grabbed my arm; his darkiron gauntlets bit into my flesh, drawing blood. He yanked me forwards and, with his sword hand, cut down several robots that attempted to save their master. I shoved him away from me, and he punched me with the flat of his sword, stunning me momentarily. The Feyaren traitor lurched me off my feet and hauled me backwards, towards the approaching ranks of his own soldiers, thrashing his sword as he masterfully destroyed my own.

Just as things were looking hopeless, the roar of an impulse engine resounded from the same hallway the mechanical soldiers had poured in from as a Crescent Armada tank pulled into view. The tank was typical Armada stock, looking to be straight out of the Lucian wars. It rode on four large wheels, barely visible beneath the sleek, curved outer shroud that supplemented the tank's inner hull in protecting its crew from enemy assault, and was painted in an elaborate blue and white camouflage scheme. Its turret had been fitted with a pair of chainguns, of the infamous Loreia "Triple Six" variety, which could crank out three rounds a second from each of their five barrels, the fearsome fire rate for which the weapon was revered.

The tank's turret nimbly twisted about; the cooling rods around its guns began to whirl with a humming electrical whine, followed shortly by a mind-numbing pound, like a sledgehammer bashed against a whole houseful of cookery. The Feyaren screeched in and out of unison as the hellish racket of the two Triple Sixes drowned out the sounds of combat. I covered my ears and closed my eyes, curling up protectively. It was a frightful sound, just as I had designed them to be, frightful and unstoppable…

"What, is Narrator scared of a little loud noise?" Braer scowled as he pulled me sideways, watching in dismay as the tank's concentrated fire forced his Feyaren companions into disarray. He slapped something red and glowing onto the wall next to him and pushed me up against it. "I'm sure that my Master can help you with that problem…"

I knew a teleportation device when I saw one. I tried to struggle, opening myself to the abusive storm of sound, but I couldn't bear it, couldn't tolerate the lurching report. I was scared nearly stiff by it. I couldn't move, even if Braer wasn't holding me in place, and with the teleporter there my time was limited…

The device blinked bright scarlet; just as it did, a huge mass of gleaming Everstone slashed right past my nose, smashing the device uselessly flat. Braer pulled sideways just as the huge lance slashed towards him, very nearly severing his head. The horrendous torrent of sound ceased, and a familiar thickly-armored Ward pulled into my cone of vision. It was Goldeye, Silver Crescent's brother, who was very interested in splitting Braer's skull with the angular, armor-penetrating blade of his Knight Killer.

"If you're lookin' for a fight, Braer," he snarled in his hollow voice, hefting the weapon in his gilded gauntlets, "Take on someone who's _armed_!"

Braer hissed at him, the feral snarl that typified Fright aggravation, and ducked to avoid being skewered. He lashed out with his sword; Goldeye upturned the back end of his lance, deflecting the blow, and whirled around the front end, forcing Braer to leap backwards once again.

I flicked out my arm; there was a smooth clink as a short poleaxe unfolded in my grasp, locking to its full four-foot length. I had designed the weapon for a story I never quite got around to writing, and figured it would be more useful than a gun at close range. As Goldeye chased Braer away, I finally noted that the room was mostly vacant of Frights, since most of Braer's troops had been either destroyed or driven off. Most of the machines were also exiting, probably to chase after the remainder, but a few remained, watching me with protective gazes.

I maneuvered over to where NiGHTS was sitting, leaning against the wall. "You okay, NiGHTS?"

The jester gave me a lopsided smile. "Are you?" she asked, wobbling around a little.

"Looks like Reala really handed it to you. Here, I'll see if I can fix this…" Shifting my axe from my right hand to my left, I knelt down next to her and placed my hand on her head. There was a glow of sapphire as I transferred Power into her. The effect was immediate; she immediately straightened back out, looking quite alert.

"Yeah, yeah, it wasn't a fair fight anyways!" NiGHTS hopped back up into the air. "Where'd he go off to?"

I shrugged. "I have no clue, it's Braer we've been dealing with here, mostly."

NiGHTS scowled. "He probably ran away to get reinforcements. We should probably go catch up with him before he does..."

"It's a little late for that, I'm afraid." Resting his sword on his shoulder, Silver Crescent cast a level glare to his surroundings. "This place is already swarming with all sorts of vermin. I'd like to do a thorough extermination myself, but knowing the Dark One's reserves it's probably wiser for us to abscond in the simplest way possible."

"Can you make a distraction to get them away from me?" I asked.

The admiral shook his head, casually sheathing his sword. "Frights can be quite easily distracted, but these Nightmaren are just too focused on getting at you, I doubt it would work. I don't really have enough troops to make a quick job out of it anyways."

"Who'd you bring?" I inquired.

"Oh, whomever could be had at a moment's notice," Silver Crescent said plainly. "You know, the usual suspects: Kaerie, Tranter, Shaye, Dreyer, and of course Goldeye."

The tank maneuvered over towards us, the hatch on the turret popping open. With some difficulty, a soldier pulled his head and shoulders up out of it. He pulled off his Armada helmet, revealing a battered face with a crooked nose and two bright blue eyes, accompanied by a plume of somewhat uneven tawny hair. The whiney voice I could recognize anywhere. "_Blah!_ I've forgotten how cramped these freaking tanks are…"

"They _are_ made for Forms your size, Tranter," I said, frowning.

The Armada Elite sighed. "Not when you've got an extra guy crammed in here they aren't… hey, Shaye, you gettin' out now or what?"

Shaye's voice, an earthy tone tinged with a Red Oak accent, echoed casually from within the tank. "I gladly accept your invitation; I do not much care for your company myself." The curved shell of the tank unlatched and swung downwards, allowing the marksman to clamber out, hitting the ground below with a heavy _clump_. He too removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm, revealing the matte eyes and mahogany head-armor prized by Durans like hair by humans. (He lacked a nose completely, as well as ears; being closer related to pine trees than mammals, all Durans had smooth, rounded faces a bit reminiscent of NiGHTS' own.) "_Res rás,_ Narrator."

Tranter ducked back in and emerged again, clutching Shaye's bolt-action Snapjaw rifle. "Hey, tree boy, you forgot your musket!"

Shaye glared at him, extending his hand as Tranter tossed it down to him. "This is a fine precision tool, unlike _those_ monstrous wastes of ammunition you think are better," he replied irritably, slipping its sling over his shoulder.

Tranter snorted. "Ha! I can throw rocks faster than you can shoot that piece of crap!"

"And I can place rounds into a three-inch-wide moving target at three-quarters of a mile out," Shaye returned smartly. "_Without_ destroying everything within a twenty-foot radius."

"And that is better _how_?"

"Settle down, minions," Silver Crescent berated wearily, as though it had not been quite the first time he had interrupted the two's debate. I thought it was pretty funny myself, and judging from the narrow smile on the admiral's face, he did as well. "No interruptions, Goldeye, they don't need your help."

Goldeye, who had just walked in, harrumphed and spoke anyways. "Guns are for the weak and wussy. _Real_ warriors carry blades."

Shaye rolled his eyes; Tranter chucked a spent cartridge at the golden-clad knight. It clanked right off of Goldeye's helmet (tipped at an angle to hide a jagged knick), not even nudging the position of his single glowing namesake.

NiGHTS nudged me. "_I like that guy in the tank,_" she whispered.

I smiled grimly. "Of course you do," I murmured back. "Tranter's even less polite than _you_ are."

"We should get moving again," Silver Crescent said, crossing his arms. "We can't go back the way we came, they'll be mobbing that hallway… how else can we get out of here?"

"You could do your teleporty-thingy," NiGHTS suggested.

The admiral shook his head. "I can't Sideslip seven people _and_ a tank if I want to conserve enough Power to keep fighting afterwards."

"I can," I said plainly. "I have unlimited amounts of Power, I can do whatever the hell I want. Where do you think we should go?"

"Any place far away from here," Goldeye suggested. "This place is _mugged,_ believe me."

I snapped my fingers (and failed to make a noise, since I can't actually create the popping sound). "How about we go back to the corner fort near the door? That's pretty far away from here—"

NiGHTS punched my arm; I recoiled from her slightly. "No boring stone thingies!"

"It's either that or getting eaten by Frights outside of here," Shaye said, waving a hand. "I vote for the former-- I would rather remain whole, thank you very much."

"I'm sure there's lots of rings over there," I said to NiGHTS. The thought cheered her up enough to distract her; I swiveled back to Silver Crescent. "Okay, so I'm teleporting us. Any further complaints before we go?"

Getting no negative response, I shrugged and raised a hand; the ground fell out and we vanished into thin air.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Ten: Sidetracked

I landed quite neatly on my feet; the tank fell down a few feet behind me, its excellent suspension reducing the drop to little more than a brief quiver on impact. Silver Crescent and NiGHTS appeared on either side of me, the left and right respectively.

"What an opportune place to set up base in," the admiral remarked, looking around. I did not have such a keen eye for the creation of military emplacements myself, but I could certainly tell a good stakeout when I saw one. The whole facility was built onto the side of the hill, with a series of platforms that ducked backwards to the top of the mound. I had transported us to the top platform, which gave an excellent view of the entire valley around over the thick white battlements that sheltered us from below. The ramps that led up and down its length were large enough (however barely) to accommodate the large military equipment, tanks included, that the structure once bristled with. There was a closed bunker area on the level beneath us, which likely led to the fort's extensive interior within the hill. Although the walls were cracked and eroded in many places, enough of it was there to still serve its purpose. "Looks like we could outlast an orbital bombardment in here," I commented.

Tranter flung open the top hatch of the tank and commented dryly, "Looks like it already _has_!"

Silver Crescent turned to the surly gunner. "Needless to say, it will work quite well for our means, should we be attacked. Tranter, Dreyer and Shaye, take the tank down and find a good place to overlook the valley from. Kaerie, get back up here once the tank's in position; we won't need you to move it for a while after that."

The admiral's apprentice gave his muffled assent from somewhere beneath the driver's hatch. "Gotcha, SC."

"What about _me_?" asked Goldeye, a bit offended that Silver Crescent had failed to mention him.

"You can stay up here and keep a lookout with Kaerie. I'm going to have a word with Narrator, preferably without _your_ commentary."

The high-ranking Ward grumbled, but stomped over to the parapet of the fortress, resting the heavy blade of his Knight Killer on his shoulder.

NiGHTS fidgeted anxiously to the side of me. "Now what?" she asked.

I glanced over at Silver Crescent. "Yeah, now what? I have trouble seeing how this base will help us very much, come to think of it."

"It puts us in a position to lay down a lot of fire in a concentrated manner," Silver Crescent said plainly. "When the Dark One comes for us, we'll be able to give him a good run for his money."

"That's exactly my problem, though. Why are we trying to confront the Dark One in a fixed battle? Shouldn't we be doing hit-and-runs and trying to avoid the main part of his force?"

The admiral sighed. "I know that. I'm waiting for the Dark One's response. If he knows where we are, his soldiers will quickly be upon us. If he doesn't, then this place buys us time."

"Time for what?" I asked.

"Time to explain a few things to you." Silver Crescent turned and walked over to me. "You do know why I am here, right, Narrator?"

"Because I think you're cool and like having you around?" I said innocently.

The admiral shook his head, smiling faintly. "That's part of it. I am one of your Wards; we all are, actually. We are the guardians you summoned to protect yourself."

"I know that," I said, frowning. "And?"

"Do you know what you're protecting yourself from with us, though?"

"The Dark One, no duh," I said curtly.

"Ah, but that is only an interpretation of what we are doing. Wards do not protect the body of the Visitor; that is one thing outside of our ream, as we are creatures of the mind. We are the way you protect yourself from your own problems, your own doubts, your own fears. Here, we fight Nightmaren for you; in the Waking World, we help you relax, space out, comfort yourself. This is a duty we pride ourselves in, for we are very good at distracting you from what would otherwise be a very dull and dreary existence."

What Silver Crescent was saying did make sense to me. "That is true, I guess. Life would be pretty boring without having you guys to write about." I paused, giving Silver Crescent a look. "There's a catch here, isn't there?"

The admiral sighed. "Unfortunately, our ability is a two-edged sword. We can protect you here, but we ourselves are a liability; the more of us you summon, the weaker you yourself become."

I made a face. "What do you mean? Having you guys around doesn't make me any less powerful, I mean, if anything I do bigger things!"

"In ways of capacity you are unaffected, of course, but the more you rely upon us the less practice you yourself receive in dealing with problems." Silver Crescent crossed his arms. "The Dark One is too clever to fight his way through your Wards to you, as not even he would succeed in such a feat as long as you invested your power in us. He will wait until you are alone, and there he will strike in his full force. If you are not ready to face him without our assistance, then we are all doomed."

"How is the Dark One gonna take me out, huh? If he tries to take me captive, I summon all of you guys to my aid…" I paused midsentence, considering the gravity of my implication. It brought a grim smile to my face. "That _is_ it, right? He can't outfight me, because I have too many Wards?"

"Conflict is the Dark One's favorite method of setting his enemies off guard," Silver Crescent warned. "He has no interest in killing you, since it is a futile effort for him, and would much rather steal your power—your Creator Ideya—and take it for himself. All of this fighting, this is his way of testing you. The Lord of the Nightmares is probing you, trying to discern your weaknesses. If he can figure you out, he gains tremendous leverage against you."

NiGHTS interrupted, adding to Silver Crescent's statement. "Wizeman wants to trick you into giving up your Ideya to him."

"Giving it up?" I asked, surprised. "Why would I ever do that? It's the most valuable thing I own!"

"And yet there are some things you desire more than it," Silver Crescent replied. "I am well-acknowledged in that regard, since I am your Grand Ward, an embodiment of your strongest desires. It will take time, but the Dark One will figure out what they are, and there is little that either of us can do against it, for the he has fooled many before into falling under his domain."

I sighed. "Oh, so let me guess. The Dark One—Wizeman, whatever or whoever he is in this place—wants to make me a deal I can't refuse in exchange for my Ideya? Well, it does fit with his character, although I have no clue what he could offer me." I shrugged. "Maybe a bottomless bottle of root beer… which I could just as easily make for myself, if I was feeling particularly in need of it."

Silver Crescent's reply was curt. "Not things of this world, Narrator. The Dark One is generous in his falsehoods, more than either of us would dare to be."

There was a moment of silence; no one spoke. After a few moments I broke it, with an occurring thought. "Hey, SC, do you know if NiGHTS is one of my Wards?"

The admiral looked quite perplexed (a rare expression for someone of his intelligence). "To be honest I was pondering that same issue myself. I do not know what sort of creature NiGHTS is; she is not of the same element as us Wards."

"I'm no one's minion," the jester said proudly. "I just tag along with people I like." She gave me a discomfiting salacious wink.

The admiral did not notice anything or chose not to, but he continued. "Owl is the same, so I would vouch that they are some sort of anomaly in the Dream Realm." His eyes narrowed. "Some things are left unspoken in this place; those who know chose not to tell."

He waved the notion off. "That is of minor importance compared to the concerns most immediately at hand, though. I cannot coach you in what the Dark One will tempt you with, for it is fruitless to guess the unpredictable, but I will advise you to be wary. The Dark One never speaks ill in words, but that does not mean he will not veil the truth in other ways."

"I've got my own little bit of advice for you, Narrator," NiGHTS said, leaning closer to me. I gave her an expectant gaze, eager to hear whatever useful information I surmise she might pass along. "Wizeman is really good at tricking people into things. Always think backwards when you're dealing with him, 'cause he's never doing it for what he says he is."

I nodded. "I figured as much."

"And you know what else you should know?" The jester's eyes gleamed. "I am bored out of my freaking mind. Let's ditch this party!"

Silver Crescent started forwards, already guessing what was about to happen. He certainly wasn't fast enough. NiGHTS grabbed my hand and Dualized with me, without as much as a polite word; I was surprised, but did not refuse, although I shot a few indications of irritation in her direction. NiGHTS giggled in response, as though finding my complaints entertaining, and alighted quickly into the air.

The admiral sighed and shook his head. "Don't do anything stupid!" he called after us.

"We'll stay close by," NiGHTS said cheerfully. She pulled to the right, looping around the back of the corner fort. _Now, Narrator, where are all those Rings you were talking about…?_

Ah, of course, the rings. Heaven forbid I deprive the jester of her senseless pastime. With the wave of a hand I summoned a spiraling line of the orange obstacles, relishing only slightly NiGHTS' gleeful response as she eagerly pulled me forwards.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Eleven: A Few Good Songs

The meaning of time was lost while NiGHTS chased rings. It was hard enough to be counting time with someone constantly talking and giggling in your ear, but if said person was _inside_ rather than outside your head, it was nigh impossible. Still, it was not a bad thing to relent to. It was a cathartic rhythm that I sank into, something that I could do without really thinking very hard about it. It was like walking around, paying more attention to my own musings than the world around me. Hard though it was to conceive, I enjoyed it.

I had plenty of things to think about, but nothing in particular that I really wanted to. I just started playing music in my head, and silently singing along to it. "Waiting" by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus seemed to fit for the moment. _Feeling sorrow… for all the things you have to steal and borrow… and bring the days we had before tomorrow… relapse and then collapse into yourself once more…_

_Waiting for this life to change, seems like it's taking me forever… And I can't, hold on, this life, is breaking into the day... this life is gonna change, seems like it's taking me forever, and I can't, hold on, this life, is breaking into the day… _

I skipped a little, since I didn't quite recall the exact lyrics for the middle portion. _Waiting, for this life to change, seems like it's taking me forever… and I can't, hold on, this life, is breaking into the day… this life is gonna change, seems like it's taking me forever, and I can't, hold on, this life, is breaking into the day… again… into the day, again…_

_Waiting, for this life to change, seems like it's taking me forever, and I can't, hold on, this life, is breaking into the day… this life is gonna change, seems like it's taking me forever, and I can't, hold on, this life, is breaking into the day--_

_Take time, to contemplate, who you are and where you want to go… Take time, to contemplate, who you are, and where, you want, to go… into the day…_

Just as the last few beats of the electric guitar faded in my mind, NiGHTS burst my little bubble of self-containment with an aptly-directed question. _Are you SINGING, Narrator?_

Well, I was singing, to myself, in my head, which NiGHTS was so kindly eavesdropping on. I could sing a little, but I wasn't trying to at the moment…

_You can sing? _NiGHTs emitted a tone of excitement. _Oooh, ooh, I wanna hear you sing!_

I was more surprised that the jester was so eager to abandon her 'favorite pastime' than at the prospect of having to sing for her. I sometimes sang with my sister; how could this be any different?

NiGHTS landed on a large, level rock jutting out of the hillside, forming a decently sized platform for me to stand on without any restriction of movement. We separated and NiGHTS immediately began chattering, thankfully out of my head. "Sing a song for me! Sing a song for me!"

I laughed nervously. "I'm really not a very good singer, NiGHTS. My voice cracked when I turned twelve and since then I've been wretchedly baritone."

"It sounded so nice when you did it in your head! Come on, sing!" The jester snapped her fingers. "I'll accompany you on instrumentals. How about that?"

"Instrumentals?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can play the flute," the jester offered. She held her hands up to her head as though holding an invisible flute. I was a little startled when she actually began playing it, a twittering series of high notes.

"I don't know any songs you can decently put to a flute," I said, frowning. "I'm a post-hardcore/alternative guy. Electric guitar and drums maybe, but not a flute."

NiGHTS shrugged. "Oh, well, sorry then. You'll still sing for me, right?"

"What do you want to hear?" I asked.

"What's your favorite?"

"Artist in the Ambulance by Thrice," I said without so much as blinking. "I know that one pretty well. Wanna hear it?"

NiGHTS clapped her hands like a four-year-old. "Yay, a song!" She then leaned forwards in midair, listening contently.

I took a breath and started. "_Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal. Red light, can't stop, so I spin the wheel. My world goes black before I feel an angel lift me up, and I open, blood-shot eyes, into fluorescent white; they flip the siren, hit the lights, close the doors and I am gone…_"

I paused briefly, in my head counting the beats of the guitar solo. NiGHTS was watching in blessed silence, looking quite interested. I continued. "_Now I lay here owing my life to a stranger and I realize that empty words are not enough, they left me with the question of just what have I to show except, the promises I never kept, I lie here shaking on this bed, under the weight of my regrets I hope… that I, will never let you down… I know… that this, could be, more than just flashing lights and sound…"_

_"Look around and you'll see that it sounds impressive, no one really cares. It gets me down but I'm still gonna try to do what's right. I know that there's a difference between sleight of hand, and giving everything you can, there's a line drawn in the sand, and I'm working up the words to cross it and I hope… that I will never let you down… I know, that this, could be more than just flashing, lights and sound… rhetoric can't raise the dead up sick of always talking, when there's no change, rhetoric can't raise the dead up sick of empty words… let's lead, not follow. Late night brakes lock hear the tires squeal, red light can't stop so I spin the wheel, my world goes black before I feel an angel steal me from the greedy jaws of death and chance, and pull me in with steady hands, giving me a second chance, the artist in the ambulance, I hope that I'll never let you down, and I know, that this, could be more than flashing lights and sound… can we pick you off the ground… more than flashing lights and sound…"_

I paused, looked shyly at NiGHTS, and smiled weakly. "That's my impression, anyways."

The jester seemed to explode with excitement. She pulled me into an embrace that would have cracked a statue, nearly knocking the wind out of me. "That was completely AWESOME! You are an awesome singer! Again, again, I wanna hear it again!"

It took some effort to free myself from her grasp, but I managed to push out of her constricting embrace. "_Shamerdes_, NiGHTS, I'm fragile!" I snapped.

The jester smiled sheepishly. "Oh, sorry, got a little carried away. I love a guy who can sing!"

"I'm not that stellar, I can't hit high enough notes," I muttered.

The jester paid no heed. "Again, again, again! I wanna hear more!"

"You have the manners of a four-year-old," I admonished, a shy smile breaking my features. "I can't begrudge someone that eager, though… what do you want to hear next?"

The jester shrugged. "Anything. I just wanna hear more."

I considered for a moment. "How about one I made, huh? I can't really write sheet music but I can do lyrics and a simple tune. It's a little short, but I think it's pretty good. It's called "Soldier's Anthem". Care to listen?"

The jester eagerly bobbed her head. "Sing it, sing it!"

I took a breath and began. "_Some days you walk the world proud, some days it walks on you. Some days you're living easy, some days you kill just to make it through…_

_When your life isn't easy… when you're dodging iron rain… when you're living between craters… and you don't know if you'll make it through… just remember, heart-torn soldier: life is a war, and must go on…_

_Some days you feel like singing, were it not for all your tears. Some days you're breaking out of here, just to see you're breaking in. Some days passed flickered in the flames, some days go on a thousand years, some days you think you'll make it, some days you've died a thousand ways…_

_When your life isn't easy… when you're dodging iron rain… when you're living between craters… and your whole world is full of pain… when you feel that you've been lied to, and hot lead's now whipping by, when you just can't stop the bleeding, and in your heart you want to die—you can't give up now, you must hold on, we'll lose it all if you don't press on, though we don't care if you can't live on, life is a war, and must go on…"_

NiGHTS was actually quiet for a moment after I stopped singing, as though hesitant to speak. She did, after a little while. "That song is very lonely."

I shrugged. "They say to write what you know."

NiGHTS was silent again. I found her stare unnerving. "That's the way it's always been for me," I said, as though reassuring her, although it would do little in that respect. "I am on the outside, looking in. Always there, but never really part of anything."

"You're a part of this," NiGHTS said, motioning around her. "A very big part, if I may add."

I sighed. "This… isn't real. It's all inside of me. I make it real… I bring it life. But no one shares it. Only I."

The jester drifted around me, tracing a line along my back with her hand so I swiveled, bristling, to face her. "You seem to be forgetting someone, Narrator, someone pretty important here."

I shook my head. "You're one of my Wards. You're another incarnation of myself. Silver Crescent is wrong; you're no different than any of us."

"You really do think so, don't you?" NiGHTS said, smiling enigmatically. "That it's all about you?"

I snorted. "Who else is there in this place? It's myself and my multitude of displaced facets. My hopes, my wishes, my desires, my hates, my fears—my dreams, my nightmares. That's what this place is, a twisted, convoluted swirl of everything that I'm made out of. Beautiful, yes, but utterly doomed." My voice became bitter, venom in my throat. "More wonderful than anything else, but all things will succumb to the shadows. All things will die."

NiGHTS gave me a long, sad look. "Dreams don't die unless you let them." She cocked her head slightly. "Maybe that's part of the problem, Narrator. You don't have hope."

"Hope is futile," I said dismally. "Whenever I dare to, my visions are smashed to shards before my eyes. The people in my life go through great efforts to see that I am not allowed such things as hope."

NiGHTS turned her head for a moment, thinking. She drifted towards me, pressing her hands against my shoulders, staring very determinedly into my eyes. "Nothing is ever beyond hope, Narrator. Forget the rules that restrain you in your world. This is Nightopia. Make your own rules. We'll go along with whatever you do."

"No… no one follows my rules, they aren't the real rules," I said, blankly, a hollow feeling of anxiety passing over me.

"The only rules are what you think is _right_," NiGHTS said. "It's your choice. Forget all sorts of things, forget your own name, forget _me_, but never forget, Narrator, that you have a _choice_."

I just shook my head. "I… I can't believe it. It… isn't true. It can't be. It's too… _easy_."

NiGHTS raised a hand and flicked me right in the forehead, causing me to twitch and recoil slightly. "Stop being so hard on yourself already! It's ridiculous; you're as powerful as Wizeman is, and yet you can't even believe it yourself!" The jester backed away from me, shaking her head in dismay.

"So, should I try being as stupidly reckless as you, then?" I asked cynically.

"_YES_!" NiGHTS exclaimed. She burst out laughing. "By all means, Narrator! You'll save both of us a lot of trouble if you stop being so afraid of everything in sight!"

I exhaled slowly. "I'll try that on the next Maren I meet. Hopefully it isn't one too big for me to handle, though…"

I paused. Something felt… hot. Very hot. Uncomfortably so. _Very_ uncomfortably so, actually, it was burning, burning, _burning!_

I yelped as flames flickered over my shoulder, all over my back. I quickly unzipped my hoodie and yanked it off, pounding the conflagrated clothing against the side of the hill until it stopped smoldering. Tossing it aside (now that it was thoroughly ruined by flame), I looked up the hill, towards the source of the fire. The hill was emitting a tall pillar of smoke and tongues of flame, spitting sparks and molten rock. A blob fell next to me, sizzling as it cauterized the reddish grass that had been inhabiting that particularly spot. As the entire surface of the hill began to buckle and crack as a volcano began to form from it, I suddenly espied the source of the mayhem as a long, fire-maned head rose from the top of the hill—Firemind!


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twelve: Firemind Fight

The fire-serpent emitted one wailing shriek and reared back, flames coursing over the crest of its head. The creature spewed a stream of sizzling magma at me; I leapt to the side, watching in horror as the red-hot rock splattered the ground by my feet, charring the grass black in an instant. The glob of molten rock hissed and steamed for a moment, and then reformed itself into an arched shape, forging a little head and glowing eyes as a small fire-creature emerged from it. The snake hissed as I eyed it questioningly, and then spat a chunk of flaming debris at my feet, nearly splashing my shoe in the process. I created a shovel from midair and struck the pest with an overhead swing; the blade impacted the creature's molten form, squishing it into a lopsided lump. I positioned myself and knocked the stunned lava snake aside, sending it into a splattered pile a few feet away, and thrashing wildly as it tried to reshape itself. I raised the shovel and brought it down upon the creature, hacking it fully in half. I abandoned the rather cumbersome implement just in time to evade another glob of metal from one of its companions, who were rapidly forming from the puddles of lava all around me.

"Great, it's spawning little ones now," I grumbled, creating a few new weapons to combat the rising horde. I tried to use a fire extinguisher, but after finally freezing one of the critters to death abandoned it as far too slow. I skittered back over to one of the flat rocks protruding from the hillside, hoping to distance myself from the creatures. The little serpents crawled after me, scraping their molten bases across the ground as they gave ponderous chase. I could deal with the little ones later, since the main unit was still on the loose.

NiGHTS flew out in front of me, extending her hand. "Narrator! Dualize with me!" I quickly agreed, wanting to get away from the ground quickly. Firemind hurled another stream of lava, landing close enough to make NiGHTS yelp from the heat. We exited promptly, just as the creature fired again, missing by a farther margin as we took to the air.

_Narrator, we've got to figure out some way of defeating the beast,_ NiGHTS said stiffly. _Water worked pretty well last time. Have any ideas?_

I personally would opt for a fire hose, a very big fire hose, or maybe an ice cannon. The cannon would probably work faster, and probably wouldn't require a long pipe connecting to a body of water. An ice cannon. Now, if only I knew what one looked like…

_Make something up,_ NiGHTS suggested. She ducked to dodge another torrent of lava. _And quickly, too!_

I imagined a long, heavy, blue-tinted metal tube with a handle on it, and some kind of projector on the other end. Kind of like the plasma cannon from my favorite shooter, but a different color, with some different details and whatnots on the sides. The weapon appeared in NiGHTS' hands. _You'll have to help me with this one,_ NiGHTS said warily. _I'm not a very good shot with these sorts of things._

Well, I liked to think that I was. Taking more dominance over NiGHTS' arms, I shifted the weapon to her shoulder, peering through its side-mounted sights. I compressed the trigger; the cannon discharged an icy blast of blue, like a plasma shot except much, much colder. The ice blast hit Firemind and burst in a cloud of sizzling water; the serpent screeched as a patch of its lower body solidified into hard rock. It pivoted around and began throwing fierce balls of fiery rock, pelting my position with flames. NiGHTS had already taken off, and for all its fury Firemind missed quite wretchedly.

I paused to shoot the creature again, and then again after that. Firemind grew stiffer and stiffer with every shot as its body began to solidify. If I could hit it enough times, the creature would turn to brittle rock and I could then Paraloop it and smash it apart. As long as NiGHTS kept me moving, Firemind was a goner.

I was lining up for a fourth shot when the launcher suddenly levered up and out of my hands, spiraling over my shoulder to the ground beneath. I instinctively jerked to the side to investigate. I was met with a very hard and sharp foot to the midsection. NiGHTS yelped, her cry cut painfully short on the inside of my head; I buckled over, noticed how I wasn't actually feeling any discomfort, and then plummeted like a rock the moment I realized why.

I landed right in the waiting grasp of Braer, who had apparently been skulking around beneath. The Feyaren threw me to the ground face first and clamped his foot down on top of me before I could start thrashing around. He watched me with his unchanging, uncaring stare as I tried to twist over onto my back so I could kick at him. "All too easy," he said sardonically. Braer looked over to the side; I followed his gaze over to Reala, who was smiling grimly nearby. "You dealt with the violet one, correct?"

I stopped struggling long enough to look around for NiGHTS. Reala must have sent her flying with that kick, but to where had she gone?

"Oh, she won't be going anywhere," Reala said. He laughed, wickedly enough to make me twitch with disgust. "Come on, then. Let's get Master Wizeman over here before he gets impatient…"

"Before _you_ get impatient," Braer corrected blandly. Without even looking my way he edged his foot up, digging its sharp edge into my back and stifling my efforts to kick his shins with my heels.

"Oh, no, I do hope the Master takes his time." The Maren cracked his knuckles. "I'm going to have a little fun with NiGHTS now. It's about time I got reacquainted with that sibling of mine…"

I could feel my blood beginning to boil in my veins as he finished speaking. My hand tightened around the handle of a stick grenade. I pulled off the pin and twisted back my arm to crank it outwards. "Keep your filthy little claws off of NiGHTS!" I yelled at Reala.

The high-ranking Maren turned around, smiling as though expecting to taunt me. I tossed him the lit grenade, which landed on the ground beneath him; just as he realized what was happening, it burst, showering him with fragments. He emitted an unearthly screech and fell over, and I sincerely hoped he was suffering terribly from it.

Braer stabbed his foot into my back, using his weight to cut through my clothing like the blade of a sword. I was madder than Ashnard, though, and the pain only made it worse. I conjured my custom axe and cranked it up into the air, blindly swatting Braer. I hit him hard enough to make him stagger backwards, and then twisted over and leapt to my feet. He drew his sword and quickly parried my next blow. We began to ferociously duel. Fire Emblem logic seemed to be prevailing with the sword-on-axe advantage, though, and he quickly forced me backwards with his skill-at arms, knocking the weapon from my grasp a moment later. Braer lunged for a critical, but I procured an MA '86 (a heavy-duty CA revolver packing shortened rifle rounds for extra punch) and shot him straight in the guts. The powerful round went straight through his breastplate and out the other side; the Feyaren shuddered, but regained himself and lunged forwards. I stepped back and fired again, this time missing as he ducked sideways, and a third time, grazing him on the thigh and tearing a large plate of armor away, revealing his deathly black skin beneath. Braer roared and stepped forwards, stabbing me narrowly in the side; I winced, jumped backwards and shot him through the breast, splintering the whole front plate of his armor. Finally, Braer succumbed to his injuries and stumbled backwards, but not before hurling his sword at me. I swung out my hand and deflected clumsily with my pistol, avoiding grievous injury but slashing a gash into my forearm.

The Feyaren traitor fell backwards, struggling for a moment before collapsing to the ground flat on his back, twitching in a growing pool of viscous darkmatter. I held my wounded arm against my chest, grimacing at the icy stabbing the injury gave me. But I had done it. I had defeated Braer, the Dark One's most cunning general. I could have walked over and blown his head off with the last round remaining in my weapon, but I opted not to. Braer made far too interesting a character to so simply dispose of, and besides, I was too chivalrous to hit a guy when he was down. It was a waste of ammunition, anyways; the Dark One would surely reincarnate him promptly, as he did all of his more useful Frights.

As I turned away, I was given further reason to be proud of my preservation of ammunition. Firemind had managed to free himself from the icy grip I had nearly sealed him into, and was beginning to act up again. I sighed. After beating down Braer, a simple creature such as Firemind did not seem like much of an obstacle. I checked the breech of my pistol; it had a yellowed backing that sparkled, an Everstone-laced Starburst round. With this potent demon-purger in chamber, I turned to face Firemind, very calmly, and though nothing of fear.

The beast of fire spurred, preparing to hurl a jet of flaming lava at me. I raised my revolver, lining up its head between the sights. It was going to be a tough shot, but I felt confident in my ability to place it. Just as Firemind began to breathe a plume of ashes from its head, I squeezed the trigger. The pistol recoiled sharply in my grasp (with my adrenaline dropping I was beginning to feel the soreness the MA '86's recoil imposed upon my hands) and the round flew through the air, striking my target dead on. Firemind emitted a howl as the round impacted one of its glowing eyes. There was a flash of gold as the round did its work. Belching smoke and flames, the creature began to fall apart, showering the hillside with lava. I moved back to avoid getting scorched, and watched in grim satisfaction as Firemind finally burnt out. I clambered up to the top of the hill to investigate what little remained.

The pool of lava in which Firemind had resided had mostly vanished; a patch about ten feet square remained at the top of the hill, still smoldering slightly. It was cool enough to walk on, so I stepped across. There was a sparkle of sapphire from the air around; I reached out my hands to find another Ideya—the Ideya of Wisdom. I relished in my newfound strength for a few moments, savoring the feeling the glowing ball of energy gave me as it merged back into my soul. Things were not quite so bad after all…


	28. Chapter 28

Epilogue

"He learns quickly_."_ _Wizeman's stare was blank and cold, and nothing could be read from his head or his many encircling hands. "_I am not surprised… this I have anticipated."

"_Anticipated?" Braer crossed his arms, looking rather surly. The mends in his armor still glowed with the power of the Lord of the Nightmares' touch, but it did little to sate the Feyaren's indignant attitude towards his supposed superiors. "To what ends? I suppose you'll be 'anticipating' a mass uprising of Nightmaren next, and then the end of Nightmare as we know it? Why must you anticipate if there is to be no reaction, no return?"_

"Patience, Braer, patience._" One of Wizeman's hands drifted over to the general's side, motioning casually to him with a finger. "_You are a shrewd planner and a useful general, but you are too ambitious. That is why Narrator so easily defeated you; you made too many assumptions and not enough well-considered decisions._"_

_Braer muttered something under his breath, which Wizeman certainly heard but ignored. "_A good commander knows his opponents just as well as his allies. I have simply been testing the Creator, feeling him out. Firemind was disposable, and I had no intentions of him surviving. He served to scope out the Creator's abilities, and to measure his growing in strength and fortitude."

_Wizeman paused, his hand circling to the other side of Braer, who followed it with the gleam of his sight beneath his armored eyes. "_The Creator is inherently flawed, as all Visitors are. He has strengths in his innovation and tenacity; he is weak in his resolve and temperament. Like all Visitors, he has strings that can be pulled. I must simply decide which ones will make him dance to my tune."

"_He will be much harder now," Braer growled. "I was able to torment him with the chill of my javelins, but the Ideya of Hope shields him from such doubts."_

"Not entirely."_ Wizeman's hand waved a finger in front of Braer. "_Ideya only work as long as the Visitor is invested in them. If the Creator rejects his Ideya, as he has before, he loses all of their benefits. He may be harder to startle, but once we break him, it shall be much harder for him to recover without the Ideya. Visitors often rely on their Ideya, a habit I am certainly interested in enticing the Creator into, as it will make him a little more predictable to work with."

"_How can we frighten the unfrightenable?" Braer muttered. _

"The Creator—Narrator—has many fears, Braer… you know them as well as I do. We must simply exploit them, and once we have, we may do what we wish with him."

_There was a flash of crimson as Reala appeared nearby, likewise healed. He glared daggers at Braer. "Well, well, if it isn't our favorite turncoating friend," he spat, bristling._

"_You said you could take care of yourself without my help," Braer replied sharply, coldly returning Reala's angry look. "I was able to stagger off on my own. I presumed the same of you, seeing as you got the short end of the Creator's wrath."_

"_Short end?" Reala yelled back. "I got blown halfway to kingdom come by a flipping grenade! You got a couple little dings in your armor and I got torn in half!"_

"_You should have known that Narrator was going to try to kill you, you half-wit," Braer snapped. "I certainly did. Now, had you actually gone off without sticking around for commentary we would at least have NiGHTS right now!"_

_Reala floated closer, brandishing his fists. "I was not going to—"_

"SILENCE!_" Wizeman roared. Both generals froze in place, looking quite unnerved. "_I have had more than enough of your bickering! I thought that your loyalty to me would be enough for you to force some sort of cooperation, but apparently your own petty desires take rank above your duties! If you wish to escape this menace without being destroyed by it, you must all fight together!"

_Reala recoiled for a moment, but sprang back, propelled by his frustration. "THIS stumbling block is the source of my problems!" he declared, pointing a clawed finger at Braer. "He never listens to me, never cooperates, and even treats you with distaste! He's… he's just like NiGHTS!"_

_There was a brief moment of silence. Braer stared blankly at Reala, and Wizeman stood still, apparently contemplating. _

_Wizeman spoke slowly, threateningly. "_Braer… is not like NiGHTS. Do you believe that I would ever make such an error again?"

_Reala was silent. He knew better than to respond; he was a little frightened himself of what might happen then._

_Wizeman emitted a long, weary sigh. "_Were that he was, it would be so much simpler. I do not trust you two together any longer; Braer, you shall concern yourself not so much with the Creator as his Wards, as I am sure you can contest. Reala… I have someone else to aide you. Perhaps you will be slightly more pleased with him, seeing as he is a sibling of yours much more directly than the likes of Braer…"

_There was a crack and a flash like a grenade bursting by Wizeman's side; Reala flinched involuntarily at the sound. A Nightmaren appeared from within it, floating a few feet off the floor of the throne room and toying with the golden targeting cursor implanted on the front of his helmet. "_I am sure you have met Reala before, Mariner?_"_

_The Nightmaren upturned his helmeted head, gazing with piercing gray eyes. He had a faint accent to his deep, even voice. "I have, my Master."_

"_Mariner…" Reala scowled slightly, not entirely hiding his distaste. "The Gun Maren? You can't be serious…"_

"I am always quite serious, Reala._" Wizeman nudged Mariner forwards with one of his hands; the militant Maren floated forwards, checking the hold of the grenades hooked to an ammunition belt slung across his Kevlar vest. "_He is a little inexperienced, but Mariner should have no trouble whatsoever scaring the Ideya out of the Creator. And Reala…"

_The Maren looked towards the hand that was eyeing him grimly. "Yes, my Master?"_

"I will not tolerate this silly infighting any longer. Unless you would like to be severely punished, I would recommend that you behave yourself."

_Reala bowed, his face stiff. "Yes, my Master. We shall bring the Creator to you in all haste."_

"Do not bother. Summon me once you have secured him away from his Wards, and I will come myself." _Wizeman motioned with his hands for them to leave, and they turned to do so. "_Do not fail me in this, my loyal servants. For this you shall all be handsomely rewarded…"

_Wizeman's minions took off, Braer in one direction, Reala and Mariner in another. Wizeman paused, for thought. He noted an odd feeling, something he had never imagined he would ever feel._

_The Lord of the Nightmares was afraid._


	29. Chapter 29 Prologue Part III

A brief note from the Author...

Yes, the Professor is back on , by request from a friend, to finish what he began so very long ago. My absence, of course, is due primarily to my devotion to my dA account, to the point of neglecting this one. Anyways, it has come to my attention that a) dA is not nearly as good a word processor as and b) I have actually been finished with Narrator's Tale for nearly a year and yet have been depriving my small group of followers of the conclusion of it. With this said, I'm going to post the last sections of Narrator's Tale over the next couple of days. I promise little else.

To my few and faithful followers, who have stayed vigilantly waiting for literally years while I remained absent from the world... this is my apology.

-The Arrant Professor

Narrator's Tale, Part III

_Prologue_

_ The light of the blue Ideya faded into his hands, leaving only a comforting warm feeling as it disappeared. In the world of the waking, the power of Wisdom could not be discerned, but here in the confines of the sleeping world of Nightopia, it was a physical light. In his case, of course, it was a small lamp placed next to a sun. The power of the Creator Ideya put all other Ideya to shame, save the similarly elusive Courage Ideya. _

_ Narrator turned back around, looking down the side of the hill he had ascended. A slight smile brushed his features. Three Ideya down, two to go. Once again, the Dark One had failed to thwart his efforts at reclaiming the precious jewels. But Narrator was not very encouraged by the fact. He was not sure why, but something had begun to plague him the moment he set eyes on the stone. Something was out of place, something important._

_ The Creator heaved a silent sigh. Truth among reality, there was little in Nightopia that he had reason to be afraid of. Most Visitors from the waking world had only limited influence over their surroundings. Narrator controlled his consciously. If he could focus and convince himself to see it, it would become reality. Talent as a writer and a very vibrant imagination went a long way in this respect. In the world of the waking, Narrator was a child of little consequence, too ordinary to note. Here in Nightopia, he was a deity. If he could envision it, then it could be done._

_ Of course, whenever new powers arise the old ones are quick to act. Wizeman, the Lord of the Nightmares, formerly the sole supernatural power in Nightopia, now had an opponent who could sincerely rival him. Narrator certainly gave the villain credit for figuring that out first; although he had not quite been able to corner the Visitor in person, the messages his minions had dispensed gave testimony to the dark lord's perception of the issue's gravity. By now Narrator had recognized it as a power struggle between two opposites, one waxing and one waning. Narrator couldn't yet call the battle even. Wizeman knew his limits perfectly well; Narrator had learned how to use his powers only a short while ago, and although a quick learner, still had many important skills to implement and master. _

_ Narrator had three of his Ideya, including the all-powerful Creator Ideya. Wizeman still retained only two, but this included the keystone of Narrator's capacities, the Courage Ideya. With it, Narrator would be truly all-powerful, but until he could force it from Wizeman's grasp, the battle would be uphill for him. _

_ A battle uphill… a prominent thought occurred to Narrator. He had the Ideya of Hope, and Wisdom, but didn't feel their effects much at all. The Dark One's servants, the terrible Nightmaren (the 'Frights' from Mindsedge, as Narrator's own creations were apt to address them) still frightened him and posed a challenge to battle. Why was this? He had a Creator Ideya, which very obviously worked. He summoned a rubber ball to his hands and bounced it around a few times, to reassure himself the power had not vanished as quickly as it had come. Narrator pitched the ball aside and watched in satisfaction as it burst in a shower of confetti twenty feet away. Small, rational things like cheap magic tricks were easy, mindlessly so, but more complex creations took time and thought. Perhaps he was simply inexperienced with his abilities? If that were the case, he had a lot of learning still to do!_

_ Narrator started on down the hill, his sneakers crunching in the reddish Calrossian sand that so covered this area of his dreams, stippled with blades of Calrossian reeds stained crimson as though with blood from the sandy soil they somehow populated in the thousands. Was the hill grassy or reedy? Narrator stared at it for a moment, thinking. Sure enough, it shifted with his visions, turning a healthy green in an instant. But grass seemed out of place in such a Calrossian environment. Narrator liked the reeds more, reminiscent of the plants so adored by the Martians in "War of the Worlds". A book he had thoroughly enjoyed, that one, telling a tale nearly as fascinating as the one he was writing as he walked. So he had dubbed himself, abandoning his rather pedestrian name of the waking world. _

_Narrator. It fit nicely, in his opinion._

_He glanced at his clothes and frowned slightly. He'd been so busy dodging Maren and the incendiaries of his own dream-creatures (the mighty Wards) that he'd forgotten how ordinary his choice of costume was. He was a lord of dreaming himself, yet he dressed like the average American teen in jeans and a green hoodie. True, it was a garb he was well accustomed to, but it was a little boring. So was his general reaction towards life, of course, as well as his disappointingly average build, but he could hardly change those. Clothes were a completely different matter, though._

_Narrator quickly went to work thinking up a costume change, something reminiscent of his usual fare, but a little more unique. Well, what did he like in his favorite anime characters? Those ARC Troopers from Star Wars seemed a fitting template. Narrator had always wanted one of those armor skirts, the _kamas_. In a creative moment he stripped off his hoodie, contemplated only a moment the dark scorch mark on its back (hadn't he taken it off to beat flames out of it a moment before? Funny how things seemed to change when he forgot about them!), and tied its sleeves around his waist. The sweater sizzled slightly as its arms melted together and transformed into a neat belt; the body of it evened out and split around the back, to allow better movement of Narrator's legs. His pockets transformed into loop holsters, each fitted with a heavy blaster pistol, and the whole fabric stiffened into almost a leathery feel, like it could stop a glancing laser or a grenade fragment. Its color changed to a brighter green with a silvery trim, looking quite flashy without being tacky. _

_Narrator smiled, pleased with the changes. Now, the jeans had to go, and the well-worn sneakers as well. The denim texture faded smooth and thinned slightly, followed by a slight constriction as the legs stretched to accommodate padding on his shins and thighs, the whole kit turning the same shade of green as his _kama_. His shoes morphed from cheap $20 sneakers into hardy-looking boots that somehow retained the same comfortable fit as before, soled and fringed with steel like Grand Admiral Silver Crescent's, and turned appreciably metallic green. Narrator's faded T-shirt was next, transitioning into a lightly padded suit coat with a short collar, dotted with silver buttons. _

_Feeling very pleased with himself, Narrator summoned a full-size mirror to view his handiwork. He struck a pose with his foot on a rock and decided that he looked dashing. Adjusting his glasses on his face, Narrator considered spawning a few weapons and accessories to kit himself out with, but decided that lugging them all around would be a hassle compared to simply making them on the spot. Of course, he needed some sort of weapon to complement the pistols at his side, something for closer combat. Like his flipaxe. Narrator flicked out his wrist and summoned a hatchet with a very long handle, hinged in the center. He twisted the handle a little and folded the weapon to a manageable two-foot length and tucked it onto his belt, creating a little loop for it to rest in. He then turned back to the mirror._

_Narrator grinned at his reflection. Appreciable, by any means. _

_The wind stirred behind him as his ever-present companion NiGHTS drifted by. The violet jester was a native of Nightopia, one of very few people that Narrator was absolutely certain he had no part in the creation of. NiGHTS giggled and slid up next to him, nudging her way into the mirror's reflection. "Ooooh, pretty new clothes," the jester noted, tugging playfully on his sleeve. "ALMOST as cool as mine!"_

"_I have freaking guns on mine, so I really don't give a damn," Narrator said, motioning to his sidearms. "Boy, I wish I could dress like this at home…"_

"_Why don't you?" NiGHTS asked inquisitively, cocking her head. The two tines on her big purple hat (coupled with her baseball-sized blue eyes) gave her a very strange profile when looked at head-on, like some kind of horned demon, a very friendly one of course._

_Narrator sighed. "They don't make clothes like this at home. Besides, I'm not allowed to use or even be near guns, 'cause my parents think I'd probably blow up the neighborhood if I did."_

"_Why would you do something like that? It doesn't suit you at all!" NiGHTS exclaimed with surprise. _

_Narrator shrugged. "People in the Waking World can be rather stupid sometimes. It's not really that big of an issue to me, anyways. Now that I've got the Ideya, should we head back to the hub?"_

_NiGHTS bobbed her head. "Of course! The door's not too far from here, actually. Come on, we'll fly there!" _

_The jester extended her hand to Narrator. She was being a little more polite than usual, it seemed, since she had a habit of just grabbing him and Dualizing with him whether or not he had mentioned wanting to do so. By now Narrator was quite used to the concept of borrowing NiGHTS' body, but the jester didn't always seem to get the concept of him wanting to use his own two feet every once in a while. For a being of amazing supernatural ability, Narrator often though, she wasn't always very bright. _

_He was in a good mood, though, and didn't particularly feel like refusing. Narrator took NiGHTS' hand and instantly his new body vanished into hers. The two then dashed off, to the door and their next adventure in the realm of dreams._


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter One: Surprises

I stepped out confidently from the door into the central hub of Nightopia. My new boots clanked when they touched down on the hard cobblestones that ringed in the large fountain in the little courtyard's center. My appreciation for the little garden was not diminished from my previous escapades, and I was quite happy to return to the quiet little courtyard.

A rather familiar hoot sounded from my left; I casually turned to the side and the little wooden post mounted beside the door. Owl—one of NiGHTS' associates, an aptly-named tawny bird wearing a little suit and pince-nez—ruffled his feathers slightly and addressed me. "You have recovered another Ideya, Narrator?"

I nodded. "The Ideya of Wisdom is now mine."

"That only leaves the Ideya of Purity and Courage," Owl commented. "Hopefully you have been practicing your abilities as well, _hoo_."

I smiled and tapped the shoulder of my new suit. "That enough for you?"

"My, my, it certainly is original," he commented, looking over the edge of his little spectacles. "Have you tried creating any more Wards, though?"

"Well, not consciously," I said shyly. "They sort of appeared on their own whenever I needed them."

Owl shrugged. "Well, that's about as good, it should do. And have you practiced your most powerful ability yet?"

"Most powerful?" I frowned. "I don't seem to remember you mentioning that one last time…"

"I might not have gotten to it, no thanks to NiGHTS," Owl said distastefully, throwing a glare in the direction of the jester (who had wandered off and was happily playing with the fountain's spray nozzles). "_Hoo. _Wizeman is quite aware of this power's potential, since he's seen other Creators use it, so it's important that you know how to use it to better effect than he thinks you can."

"I don't mean to get off-topic, Owl," I asked, "but how many Creators have there been in Nightopia?"

"That I've seen?" Owl paused for thought. "Not many at all. I've met hundreds of thousands of Visitors before, but I think you're only the second Creator. Then again, I haven't been looking for a very long time, only about a decade at this point…"

"You've been doing this for ten years?" I commented with surprise.

Owl clicked his beak. "_Hoo. _Probably longer than that, such is the count of time in this place, but still. Nightopia has existed since man began to dream, and that was a very long time ago indeed. Mostly I've been attending to my own matters during that time, but since those first two Visitors came some time ago and got NiGHTS involved in this business we've been doing an awful lot of work in the past few years, _hoo_."

"What happened back then," I asked, "With those two Visitors? What was so special about them?"

"Courage Ideya and a lot of circumstance," Owl replied. "One can never underestimate the power of the Red Ideya. Those two have purified their Nightopias, two of the very first to do so in fact."

"Interesting. So I'm aiming to "purify" my Nightopia, huh? Well, I'm sure it's going to be a trip, kicking out Wizeman and everything…"

Owl sighed. "That's the conundrum, Narrator. As long as you are here, so is Wizeman. Even if you do collect all your Ideya and boot him and the Nightmaren all out, they'll always try to come back in, and if you let down your guard they'll turn Nightopia into Nightmare."

I smiled blandly. "I kind of figured that, really. Now, about this powerful ability you were talking about earlier."

"Ah, yes, of course. Excuse my blathering, _hoo_, I do have a tendency to talk a bit much…"

NiGHTS pealed with laughter from the background. "Tell me about it!"

"Your commentary is NOT appreciated, NiGHTS!" Owl snapped back. He rolled his eyes and turned back towards me. "Anyways, your most powerful ability. As you've probably realized, you have tremendous sway over your surroundings, but were you aware of the power you have over Nightmaren as well?"

I nudged the rim of my glasses, settling them on the ridge of my nose. "Power over Maren? You mean when I destroy them?"

Owl shook his head. "No, no, not the power to destroy, but to con—"

A thunderous, ear-splitting _ssshhh-BAM_ burst right beside me; I screamed and clamped my hands over my ears as a shockwave slammed into me, nearly shoving me over. I turned about into a cloud of wispy white smoke smelling familiarly of gunpowder, still sheltering my ears. I could pick out every rhythmic pound of my heart in my chest, playing like the pistons on a madly cycling engine. The shot sounded far too close for comfort, but I couldn't see what caused it, even through the smoke. Just as the theory of it not originating with a cannon entered my mind, a gloved hand reached out from beside me and latched around my collar, confirming my theory.

The Nightmaren attached to it was one I'd never seen nor heard of before. He looked a bit like NiGHTS in form, with the same exaggerated proportions and swept-back hat, and a general theme of gray about him from what little of his actual body protruded from his costume. This Maren had enough gear with him to supply a squad of commandos. He had an olive green flak jacket on, studded with ammunition belts and pineapple grenades, a Kevlar helmet and black combat boots to match. I could make out the shape of an assault rifle and a rocket launcher strapped across his back, and maybe half a dozen pistols and similar small weapons holstered at his sides. A bright gold band ran around his helmet, holding a large golden crosshairs over his right eye like a mask. His face was twisted into a dark scowl, not demented like Reala's but looking quite simply more rough-cut and angry.

I grabbed his hand and cranked it sideways, forcing him to release me, and shoved him away. "Get your claws off me, you freakish-"

The soldier-Maren leaned forwards and slapped me across the face, nearly dislodging my glasses. "You little MAGGOT!" he roared in a voice that could have split boulders.

The demonic creature launched into a tirade, shaking me violently by the shoulders. "You think you're better than me, you little insect? Do you, you little insignificant speck? DO YOU? ANSWER ME!"

I was scared halfway out of my mind by this gun-toting dervish. My mouth gaped silent screams as my voice promptly vacated my brain. All I could do was stare with glassy eyes at this monstrosity!

NiGHTS' voice snapped me out from my paralyzed trance. "MARINER! Leave Narrator alone!"

She surprised him just enough to pull me away, and I quickly stepped backwards a few feet, to be on the safe side. I pulled myself back together while Narrator and the militant Maren faced off. The soldier-Maren crossed his arms, his voice steely and sharp. He drew two Uzis from his side and waved it at her as he spoke; the second he leveled on me. "I have no intentions of dealing with you, NiGHTS. Now, get lost before I severely up your body mass to lead ratio."

"What's wrong with _you_, Mariner? Have you gone mad?" NiGHTS returned sharply. "What has this Visitor done to you, huh? We've been over this before!"

Mariner waved his submachine gun in the air. "Once we were, yes… but that was before I realized exactly what I was allowing. The little punk deserves some torment, challenging Master Wizeman and all." His gaze fell upon me and immediately hardened back up. I found his glare very unsettling. "Visitors are a pestilence upon our world, NiGHTS. They pollute the Dream Dimension with their silly ideals and completely ignore the damages they cause in doing so. We fools among Maren who treat vermin as playthings!"

"Wizeman has filled your head with his lies, Mariner," NiGHTS said stiffly. "You're just too stubborn to realize it!"

Mariner bristled. "You call Master Wizeman a liar? Your own _CREATOR,_ he who gave you _life_, and you say he LIES? No, it is YOU who lies, YOU who has no honor!"

That had some effect on NiGHTS. She seemed to actually slouch a little, and looked depressed, an appearance ill-fit to her usually cheery personality. I glanced over at her and frowned, looking quickly back to Mariner. "Wait… are you saying that NiGHTS is a Nightmaren?"

Mariner scowled, as though offended to acknowledge my comment. "Of _course_ she is, you idiot. Who but Master Wizeman could make such a creature?"

I paused for a moment. Then, a smile crossed my face. I chuckled softly, pleased with the developing irony.

NiGHTS gave me a mopey frown. "I'm sorry, Narrator, I never really…" She paused in midsentence, looking suddenly confused. "Umm… are you laughing at me?"

I turned back to NiGHTS, meeting her confused expression with a bright smile. "Yeah, I kinda knew you were a Nightmaren. I didn't make you so I kind of assumed as much."

"That… doesn't upset you?" NiGHTS asked cautiously.

I shook my head enthusiastically, laughing again. "Heck no! You're obviously not cracked up for this whole 'evil' thing anyways. You're the most friendly, loveable and truant Maren ever made… only 'Master Wizeman' could screw up that badly!"

Mariner went off like a firecracker. He lunged and cracked me over the head with his machine pistol. "_ENOUGH_ OF THIS! I'm going to take your Ideya, and when I do, I'll KILL YOU!"

The joke was over, and I was far too terrified to continue it in any way. Mariner grabbed me by the collar and shook me around as he screamed at me. _"DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYING_?"

I felt like I was being torn apart, and not just because Mariner was strangling me with his grip. The soldier Maren holstered his sidearm and pushed his free hand towards my chest, as though he was about to tear out my heart. I was too scared to fight him. I could see the light of an Ideya flash as my insides seared with fire…

Before Mariner could completely tear the energy out of my body, NiGHTS flew in and screw-kicked him. Mariner slammed into the fountain with a few choice expletives, and I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. Flickering with anger, I quickly recovered, pulling myself back to my feet. "I'm sick this crap," I growled, still breathing heavily.

Mariner pulled himself away from the fountain with a snarl, reaching over his shoulders for a weapon. "He's not out yet," NiGHTS warned me, bracing for battle. "Narrator, Dualize with me, we'll take him together."

I shook my head. "Roughing people up with my own body goes against my code of ethics. I prefer to use weapons, much neater that way." I pulled my sidearms up from my _kama_. "Now, let's see how good my targeting is…"

With a loud _click_, Mariner locked a belt of ammunition into the breach of his heavy machinegun. I winced at the sight. "Jeez, he's got an MG-42… on second thought, I'd rather not target him at all!" I holstered my guns and reached into one of my pants pockets, hoping to find some useful relics. A few rectangular, sharp-cornered objects met my hand, game cards by the feel of them. I pulled them out and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized what I was holding. "Thank goodness I always keep my favorite Star Wars Minis cards on hand… I'm not much of a summoner, but here goes!"

I whipped one of the cards into the air and brandished it above my head. "I summon the Huge Crab Droid!"

There was a flash of light in front of me. With all the grace of a tractor trailer, a tank-sized robot in the shape of a huge mechanical crab materialized between me and Mariner's raised machinegun. I couldn't see Mariner at all through its huge mass, but then again, he couldn't see _me_ either.

"Alright, my minion! Use the Crab Droid Shuffle! Forty damage, attack plus thirteen!"

The huge machine lifted its front two legs and smashed them down, its laser cannons blazing as it wildly thrashed its opponent. I heard Mariner yell a few more obscenities, which did assure me as to the effectiveness of the attack. "I don't think that big bot is going to last very long," I said to NiGHTS. "We should probably get out of here while we can."

NiGHTS nodded. "To your third Nightopia! Let's go!"

We rushed over to the door. I heard a number of crashing sounds from behind me and the crackle of a heavy machinegun; the Huge Crab Droid might have one hundred forty HP, but it couldn't outlast Mariner's furious assault. NiGHTS opened the door, ushered me inside, and then dove in herself, slamming it behind her.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Two: The Grand Station

The cold, lonely sound of echoing footsteps met my ears as I stepped down from the door, looking around at my surroundings. My Nightopias never failed to astound!

It was like a cathedral, with high vaulted ceilings, long columns and rows of benches against the walls. The floor and walls were white marble, spotted by carpets and the occasional fresco. The floor was divided neatly in two by a trench of familiar purpose. The solitary, distant wail of a train whistle was the only further evidence I needed to be convinced.

"This is a train station," I explained to NiGHTS, who was looking around with awe.

The platform began to quiver slightly; another whistle sounded, this time longer and closer. I turned to face the opening at the far side of the station, and watched a shadow climb over the tracks. The grinding squeal of dynamic brakes cut the air as a huge streamlined engine slipped into the station, wreathed in a cloud of billowing steam. For a few moments, the entire platform was cloaked in a fog of warm mist.

The train coasted to a stop, and the sides of brightly-colored coaches came into view. The locomotive gave one last barking note, and the doors of the coaches all swung open at once. Not a single person walked out; the engine thrummed with a purring idle, steam curling from its workings beneath its iron shell.

"There aren't any people here," NiGHTS said, looking around mournfully. "It's rather lonely…"

I ignored her commentary, suddenly affixed with a burning desire to investigate the train itself. "C'mon, NiGHTS, let's go check out the locomotive! I've GOT to take a look at that steampunk goliath…"

I grabbed the jester's arm and dragged her across the platform, my attention firmly affixed upon the Art Deco masterpiece that was drawing deep breaths at the very end of the platform, wreathed in a cloud of steamy mist. "What a beautiful machine," I marveled, looking up its steep, streamlined shroud. "Look at these great drive rods and pistons, those drive wheels of sparkling chrome! The curved hull, masterfully defined, and the smooth articulation of the cars!"

NiGHTS yawned. "Maybe you should be Owl's little helper, you sound so much like him…"

"And the cab…" I paused, looking at where the cab should have been at the rear of the engine. "Hmm. The cab's in the front on this one, I guess. Well, that's as good a place as any, really. You know, this thing looks pretty familiar, now that I'm looking at it…"

I paused for thought. "Wait. I've seen this thing before." I snapped my fingers (still not producing the desired noise, though) and summoned my sketchbook. I thumbed quickly through it until I uncovered sketches of an Art Deco train station I had designed earlier in the year for one of my art electives. Sure enough, I found what I was looking for—a minute sketch of the locomotive tucked under one of the building's awnings. "Hah! Of course it should be familiar, I DESIGNED it myself!"

NiGHTS leaned over my shoulder. "Ooooh, pretty pictures! Did you make them yourself?"

"Four years of art classes makes a pretty good artist out of a guy," I admitted proudly, the sketchbook vanishing from my hands.

The locomotive blew a long, shrieking blast that made me twitch, signaling its impending departure. A familiarly surly voice called out from behind me. "Hey, Narrator!"

I turned towards the voice to see Tranter, the Drake-form soldier from the Terrene, leaning out from one of the doors of the car at the very end of the platform. He waved to us. "You and your purple pansy coming or what?"

"I'm not a _pansy_!" NiGHTS called back waspishly. She then looked over at me with a sheepish smile. "What's a 'pansy', Narrator?"

"In this case, a term of mild affection," I said briefly, a knowing smile crossing my face. I jogged across the platform towards the car, followed shortly by the jester. I reached the door and clambered up the car's steep steps, ascending into the coach's compartment.

The car was a luxury coach, tacked on to the rear of the train by someone of considerable importance. The car was about twelve feet wide by sixty or seventy feet long, the front half of which was divided up into several smaller compartments, most likely sleeping berths. The rear end, which I was standing in, was fitted with a plushy green rug, matching chairs and couches, and a few tables. Gilded lamps extended from the walls of the car, giving it an elegant feel.

"So glad you could join us, Narrator," Silver Crescent said plainly, reclined on a sofa nearby. He wasn't the only familiar face around, either. All the usual suspects were there as well, scattered about the room. Goldeye was easy to spot, being the biggest and most boisterous of the lot, and was playing a very animated game of cards with Shaye and Tranter, while Dreyer was either sleeping or meditating (having no face, it was difficult to discern) in a chair nearby. Kaerie had his helmet in his lap, exposing the wooden armor that framed in his head (as a fairly young Duran, the plates had not yet fused together and were still recognizable as individual panels) and was discussing some end or other with Silver Crescent.

The admiral motioned to the chairs surrounding him. "Please, take a seat, Narrator."

I accepted his offer, sitting down in a chair across a table from him. NiGHTS sat down next to me, right in midair. Immediately, the jester began speaking. "Hey, SC, what's that flowery thing next to you?"

Silver Crescent's wife, who I hadn't noticed until that moment (although very brightly dressed, she was rather diminutive in stature and sitting right against the admiral), cast NiGHTS an amused glance. "My name is Saki," she said with a giggle, watching the jester's surprised expression. She had an ethereal voice, just the sort I might expect from such a saintly person.

"Yeah, umm, what's up with the…" NiGHTS motioned to the side of her head, where Saki's was dotted with a huge pink flower. She also had garlands of smaller blooms hanging down from her head like hair, but the large one was the most prominent, nearly covering her right eye with a petal.

"My crownflower? Oh, they're quite ordinary for Florens, you know." Saki cocked her head towards NiGHTS, showing off the large blossom. "Isn't it pretty?"

Goldeye turned away from his card game and growled, "Pretty, yeah… you brainwash my brother with it!"

"I do NOT brainwash _anyone_, thank you very much," Saki returned stiffly. "I just _influence_ them a little, that's all."

"Influence? He was staggering around like a drunk for a week after the wedding!"

Silver Crescent chuckled. "Okay, from what little I recall of the moment, I must affirm that statement…"

The Floren sighed. "Okay, maybe I overdid the pheromones once or twice, but he's perfectly fine now, isn't he?"

Goldeye shook his head, returning to his game. "It makes me _sick_, thinking about it… alright, _deal_, Tranter! I'm upping my bid!"

"Don't worry, dear, he's just an irreparable grouch," Silver Crescent said apologetically to Saki.

The Floren smiled, giving out a bubbly laugh. "He hasn't changed in decades, that Goldeye!"

"So, Narrator," Silver Crescent began, looking towards me. "How goes the battle?"

"Good and bad," I explained. "I've recovered another Ideya, but the Dark One sent a really powerful Maren after me at the Dream Gate, and I nearly lost it again."

The admiral sighed. "You really need to stop running away from your problems, Narrator…"

"Frights feed on the fear they cause," Saki added softly.

NiGHTS was looking out one of the coach's windows now; following her gaze, I noticed white marble and iron whipping by; I had not even felt the train start moving. "So, uh, where are we headed?"

"Wherever we'd like to go," Silver Crescent said plainly. "In this Nightopia, the trains go everywhere."

I smiled and shrugged. "I'm not really that particular. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Personally, I'd like to stop by Foren Loche for a while," Silver Crescent said plainly. "Nice bunch of people there, and a full Armada garrison too."

"What's Faren Log?" NiGHTS asked me.

"Foren Loche is the massive castle where Red Oak's royalty live," I explained. "Carved from a cluster of especially large behemoth trees." I smiled shyly. "I, well, haven't exactly designed all of it yet, just some of the important bits on the inside, but it's like SC's mansion, but WAY bigger."

The violet jester yawned. "Sounds like a really _fun_ place," she said in a tone indicating much otherwise.

"You'd probably like it there," I replied, crossing my arms. "Lady Ara's even more annoying than you are."

Silver Crescent chuckled. "Most Florens are hard to keep track of," he added.

"Hard to keep track of?" Saki nestled back in against Silver Crescent, and he turned his amused gaze towards her. "I'm always here when you need me, _sonya…_"

"That is the problem, darling," he responded, smiling softly. "You follow me to places even Level Tens fear to tread."

"_I_ fear to tread?" Goldeye shot back over his shoulder. "Like where, your house whenever you two lovebirds are in it?"

"_You_ are a Level Nine," Silver Crescent returned, "And perhaps you'd fear too if you could fit such a simple concept through your thick snarky skull!"

"Hey!" Goldeye protested loudly, "I am _not_ a snark!"

"Yet you can say it with a straight face," Silver Crescent replied.

Tranter sniggered from the other end of the card table. "He's gotcha there, fella!"

"Shut up and play, dammit," Goldeye growled, turning back to his game.

I leaned back casually in my chair, listening to the comforting clatter of the train's wheels. The car rocked gently back and forth, serenading me with its peaceful sway.

I was somewhat stirred when the car jolted, slightly, pushing me up from my seat. A sudden violent jerk that nearly knocked me over brought the rest of me back into the moment. Light fixtures clattered about as the car began to violently shake. The shriek of rending steel echoed from somewhere farther away. I had no sooner rose to my feet than another tremor pushed me back down. "What the _hell_?" I protested, jumping back up.

NiGHTS flipped open a window and stuck her head back inside. With a cry of surprise she quickly ducked back in. "There's a huge Maren on top of the train!"

"_What_?" The other occupants of the car dove to the windows. Another tremor came, more powerful than the first two, but I had grabbed a railing nearby and remained standing.

Silver Crescent drew back into the car, scowling. "Cent-at-arms," he growled, grabbing onto a lamp mounting for safety. "Coming down this way. Its weight is upsetting the train's balance!"

"I _never_ get a break, do I?" I asked. The response was sudden and fierce, but not from any of the people inside the car; the coach suddenly jolted, the floor twisting sideways as its trucks cleared rail and, with the horrid sensation of flight, guppied over.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Three: Cent-At-Arms

I probably would have broken every bone in my body had NiGHTS' quick reflexes not once again proved their merits—the jester had Dualized with me, kicked through a wall and sailed clear moments before the car fell over. I watched (through NiGHTS' very capable eyes) as the coach, and most of the rest of the train along with it, avalanched to the ground and skidded sideways before finally lying still, smoldering in places, wheels still turning in their mounts.

I shuddered. What a waste of beautiful rolling stock…

_We have bigger things to worry about now, Narrator,_ NiGHTS chided, directing my head sideways. _Look!_

One of the coaches a few cars ahead of mine shifted around a little, and then suddenly flipped over, flattening half the coach behind it on impact. Something large, dark and evil stirred from behind the pile, grating with an evil hiss.

I watched with growing indignation as a massive, segmented worm crawled out from the rubble, clacking its broadsword-sized mandibles with zeal. As its head twisted towards where I stood in midair, I noted that it possessed two arms on each of its segmentations, each one ending in a set of dark grasping claws. Its foremost pair clutched a red sword and spear, as a compliment to its more natural weapons.

_Are we taking this one, Narrator?_ NiGHTS asked.

I scowled. Yes, we were taking the trailer-sized worm on. That little twerp just wrecked my beautiful train—he had to die!

The Cent-At-Arms reared, brandishing its weapons and its massive jaws. I assured NiGHTS that all was under control, and with her leaving me to my own devices, moved forwards and whistled.

I spoke with NiGHTS' voice, but it sounded so much like my own to me. "Hey, you little ingrate! What the hell? _You wrecked my ride_!"

The creature hissed, shuffling towards me on its little dumpy legs. Like many of its cohorts, it had a voice like twisted iron. "_The Masssshter commands it,"_ the oversized insectoid snarled, "_And you ssssshhhall obey him too…"_

"You know what?" I replied, reaching into my batteries of wrath and profanity, "YOU can jump out a window, and HE can follow you out on a vine! YOU WRECKED MY FREAKING TRAIN! I'm going to-!"

I flicked my wrist; immediately, a claw-headed hammer appeared. I gave it a perturbed glance. "I was thinking hand grenades, not hammers. Oh well, hammertime."

I hurled one hammer, then another, and another still. The familiar _wow-wow-wowwowwow_ sound rang through the air as I began chucking torrents of hammers at him, Hammer Brothers style. I wasn't caring to count how many, but I was cranking my arm as quickly as was humanly possible and flinging hammers every full rotation. They collided with a satisfying _plip-plip-plip_ as they bashed and bounced off the creature's skull and carapace; within moments the large centipede was shrieking and thrashing about like an ant sprayed with defoliant.

With a final "HARRAH", I tossed a double handful of mallets and ceased, watching in grim satisfaction as the projectilized hammers smashed right off its forehead. I could see the circles running around in its eyes; clearly my work was done. The Cent-At-Arms wobbled and then crashed to the side, crumbling to dust.

NiGHTS cheered and applauded enthusiastically from over my shoulder. I turned around and looked at her with a satisfied smirk, intending to make some snarky commentary, but as I met her sparkling eyes I was suddenly distracted by _a_, the fact that she was over _there_ and not Dualized with me and_ b_, the fact that I was still hovering in midair!

I fell like a stone about fifteen feet until the jester dove forwards and caught me by the shoulder, stopping me from slamming into the ground; she then gently lowered me down. As my heart slowed pounding enough to hear my surroundings I very distinctly made out the jester's pealing laughter. I turned a scathing glance towards her; NiGHTS was doubled over in midair, cackling her heart out. This did aggravate me, and still possessing a hammer in my hand, I did what came most naturally.

The mallet struck right in between the tines of her hat and bounced off with a satisfying _whap_. I very really did see stars in the jester's eyes; she stumbled around drunkenly in midair before shaking herself out and recovering. NiGHTS turned back towards me and gave me a mean look. "What was _that_ for?"

"I could ask the same," I said staunchly. "What the hell is with you and your practical jokes? It's really starting to grate my nerves!"

NiGHTS crossed her arms and crossly tossed her head. "I was just having a little fun with you, that's all!"

"I take issue with your definition of "FUN"," I replied stiffly. "I could have broken my legs with a fall like that!"

The jester leaned forwards and prodded me in the forehead, causing me to flinch. "You can't break your legs when you're _sleeping_, silly," she chided softly.

I was about to make another jarring accusation, but I looked at her smugly confident expression and decided otherwise. "Really, I'm done beating _that_ dead horse around," I said in my driest sardonic pitch, which I followed with an aggravated sigh. "If you were not so incredibly _cute_, I wouldn't bother with your _obnoxiousness!_"

NiGHTS suddenly spurred and made a veritable "_squee"_. The jester seized me around the waist and pulled me up into the air, trilling happily the whole time, "_Narrator called me cute! Narrator called me cute! Narrator called me cute!_"

I struggled to free myself from her grasp, as I found her enthusiasm too upbeat (and too asphyxiating) for my toleration. "God, NiGHTS, what the hell? Put me down!"

The jester did not heed my demands, nor did she show any sign of wanting to; rather, she began nuzzling me, which I found far worse than simply being swung around. "_Narrator thinks I'm cute! I'm CUTE!_"

"I am not a plush toy, NiGHTS! Stop that offensive cuddling! _You are flattening my ribcage_!"

With one final excited "_squee_", the jester finally released me; I jumped away from her, landed awkwardly on my feet, and then whipped back around before she tried it again. I threw my hands in the air, giving her a disgusted glare. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

NiGHTS giggled like an excited fangirl. "You're the first Visitor who's called me "cute" before…" She leaned towards me, pushing her exaggerated features right into my face; I craned backwards, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "Is it my _eyes_?"

"Well, it's more a matter of personality than appearance," I said nervously, edging carefully away from her.

NiGHTS floated back towards me. "Or do you just _like_ me?"

I tried to edge away from her again, but she caught me by the shoulder and prevented me from moving farther away. "It's true, isn't it? You _like_ me!"

"You are hard not to love," I admitted quietly.

"That's why you're so antsy around me," the jester concluded, crossing her arms. "You don't like things that you can't control, and yet you like _me_!"

"You are astoundingly perceptive for a purple jester, do you know that?" I said stiffly.

"So now what? Are you going to take me somewhere nice for a date?"

"Dates?" I shook my head. "No, no, no. Girlfriends are too expensive and fussy. I don't want one."

NiGHTS looked up at me as piteously as though I had just broken her favorite toy.

I promptly thought up something that would keep her from bawling without risking my personal sanctity. "Uh… just kidding." I pulled a long-stemmed rose out from midair and offered it to her with a flourishing bow. "Want a flower?"

NiGHTS giggled and accepted my present. "What a pretty flower," she commented merrily. The jester paused. "What do I do with it now?"

"Either attach it to your head like a Floren," I said, conjuring a small vase in midair, "Or put it in there and think up a good place for it somewhere."

NiGHTS placed the rose in the vase, and I made both of them disappear with a flick of my wrist. "Now, I do believe we have a train wreck to attend to…"

We both turned towards the overturned train. I contemplated the issue for a few moments. "Hmm. Several hundred tons of overturned cars and not a MOW consist in sight. I suppose we'll have to call upon the "Five-Fingered Wrecking Crew from the Sky" to solve this problem."

I crossed my arms and watched as a large pair of human hands appeared and began rapidly re-railing the entire train, one coach at a time. After about ten seconds of fearsomely quick work, they vanished, leaving the train upright once again on the rails, smoke idly coiling from the shrouded stack of the engine.

"Let's go check out the engine compartment, shall we?"

NiGHTS rolled her eyes. "Boring, boring, bor—"

"TOO DAMN BAD!" I seized her arm and began dragging her towards the engine.

"This is no way to treat a lady," NiGHTS protested, fighting feebly against my grip.

I looked bemusedly over at her, not slacking my pace. "You're one to talk, Sir Pushalot."

"I am not pushy!"

I laughed. "Yes, indeed, you're more "grabby" than "pushy"…"


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Four: Aria of Wind

I swung open the door of the locomotive, clambered up the steps and touched down lightly on the inside of the cab. "Now, hopefully this thing isn't some mess I couldn't figure through in a month…"

I looked around, very much expecting to see a pipe dream of valves and switches indecipherable to my common eyes. Instead, I found only a pair of swivel-chairs riveted to the floor, a few dials and switches placed on a console, and a small red lever placed on its right.

"Hrrmm… looks simple enough. Let's see if I can read this…" I sat down in the leftmost chair, looking at the panel under my right hand. The console was neatly labeled, with a brass plate denoting the basic function of each dial: current speed in miles per hour (between -40 to 200), fuel remaining (a bar depicting a nearly full battery), and motor revolutions per minute (a max of evidently six thousand). There was a button labeled "Bell", another "Whistle", and finally, the suspicious lever, which was unlabeled.

NiGHTS alighted in the seat next to me, gazing intently at the controls. "Can you drive this thing?"

"I think I can," I said cautiously. "I think this lever is the throttle. Let's see if it responds."

I reached out to the lever and laid my hand upon it; the plastic surface had a familiar feel to it, and as I pulled it up, a recognizable resistance. The engine jerked, and a grating growl resonated from deep within the locomotive's internals. As I lifted the lever, the growling grew louder, reaching a very audible "_aaaaaaaccccckkk"_.

I blinked. Images flashed briefly in my mind. "I know that sound. Is this a…"

I glanced down at the control board, right above the lever. I spotted the all-too-familiar circled "L" logo. "This thing's a jumbo-size Lionel," I concluded with surprise. "Didn't know they made 'Real' gauge…"

"The train isn't moving," NiGHTS said with concern.

I sighed, turning the lever down and up, listening to the growl of the motor. "Sounds like the E-unit to me—those suckers never work when you want them to! Okay, NiGHTS, I need you to fly out atop the locomotive and look for a big metal switch sticking out of the top…"

"Sure thing!" The jester reopened the door and zipped outside. I popped open one of the windows and watched as the jester maneuvered the top of the locomotive, pausing by a large metal protrusion near the cab. "This thing, Narrator?" she called to me.

"Yes, that one! That's the E-unit's activation switch. Kick it for me, will you?"

NiGHTS gave me a concerned look. "Kick it? Are you sure?"

"The plunger's stuck in the coil assembly! If you shake it around a little it'll drop back down!"

The jester shrugged and, winding up for a moment, delivered a stiff whack to the side of the lever. There was a loud _clang_, followed shortly by the _CLUNK_ of the plunger falling.

I reached back inside the cab and opened up the throttle. The engine complained, but its massive drivers jolted, jittering as the locomotive rumbled backwards. I cut the power once again, stopping the engine, and started it again. The E-unit went back into neutral, making the familiar rattling gate as the plunger vibrated in the coil. I cut the power again, listening for the _clunk_ as the plunger fell, and then reopened the throttle. The locomotive hesitated, jerked, and finally began rolling forwards, smoothing out as it gathered momentum.

"Now, NiGHTS! Knock the lever backwards!" I commanded out the window.

The jester threw the switch, disengaging the E-unit and allowing the locomotive to operate free of obstruction. "Is it done now?"

"Yes! Get back in here before I get this sucker up to speed!"

NiGHTS ducked back inside the train and slipped into the fireman's seat, putting her feet up on the sill of the window. I lifted up the throttle, listening to the distinct whine of the engine as the gears twisted the wheels faster and faster, bringing the train up to a cruise around fifty miles an hour. The track ahead was straight, the panorama wide, and it tore past us as I pushed the throttle up higher, to a more comfortable sixty.

"C'mon, c'mon!" NiGHTS protested with discontent. "Make it go faster!"

I rolled my eyes. "If we hit a curve at eighty miles an hour, NiGHTS, we will go sailing!"

"The track is straighter than a ruler, how can we get knocked off? Faster, faster!"

Yielding to the jester's protests, I pushed up the throttle even more. The engine replied promptly, the armature shrieking as the brushes pulled it around faster and faster, all but droned out by the clank and clatter of the drive rods and gears. The speedometer climbed to seventy, eighty, ninety.

I took a look around, watching with pleasure as the scenery whipped past us. "That good enough for you, NiGHTS?"

"Faster is better!" the jester proclaimed. "Make it go FAST!"

"Fine, fine," I said, reaching for the throttle again. "Let's see if we can break the speedometer then, huh?"

I pushed the lever up, past the perpendicular. The engine screeched as it accelerated, pushing itself even harder. The speedometer climbed once more, onto one hundred, then one ten, one twenty, one thirty. I pushed the handle even farther up; trees tore past the windows, passing phantoms of a lesser plane. The throttle still yielded to my commands, the engine still drove on, the iron shrieked and vibrated with the force of its own momentum. Still the lever went backwards, onto one hundred fifty, one sixty, one seventy, and onwards…

NiGHTS, apparently displeased with my smooth climb, thrust out her hand and grabbed my wrist, shoving my arm forwards. The throttle clicked against the rear of its mounting, at its fullest extent of speed. The engine roared and charged onwards, into the Shinkansen speeds, the rates only the luxury liners of faroff Japan would dare chance. The speedometer twitched and swiveled farther, wavering only slightly as it clicked against the edge of the dial, at two hundred square.

The engine went fast enough to give me tunnel vision; only things in the forward thirty degrees were fully clear, everything else blurred nearly beyond recognition by the distortion of speed. I lifted my hand off the throttle and reached to the controls, compressing the whistle button. The engine blew a long, gusty aria, a single carrying note like the blare of a synthesizer, nearly lost among the howling winds.

The thunder of the wheels upon the rails suddenly sounded a heavy tone as the locomotive struck a curve too tight for navigation. I felt the sudden rise as the rampaging engine rose in its mountings and lurched skywards as though on a ramp. My hands acted on their own accord; I reached down on the console and pulled a lever, perhaps by instinct. There was a loud snap and shuffle of metal; the locomotive lurched back down, but suddenly coasted back upwards, angling towards the sky.

I looked out the window, to the mirror, into the blaze of passing greenery. I saw a massive curled wing extended from the side of the engine, and all the cars behind it. The ground angled away from it as the engine mounted the air, carried on its great dark wings.

I spurred and laughed, almost giddy with exhilaration. "It's _flying_! The locomotive is _flying_!"

NiGHTS laughed along with me, her eyes flashing bright. "Flies like a bird, doesn't it?"

"Forget airplanes, we've got _flying trains_!" I exclaimed gleefully. I looked forwards, towards the expanse before us… and the dark shape that loomed in the distance, rapidly approaching!

The smile dropped from my face. "Oooooooh _CRRRRAAAAPPPP_!" I watched with horror as the massive obstruction approached on the horizon, blocking out all view of the scenery beyond.

I dove for the control lever, seeing all too quickly my impending demise—to strike such an object at such a speed! I seized the throttle and cranked it quickly back downwards. The train lurched and plummeted, down, down, down, to the earth below as it suddenly lost traction in the air. The world closed on all sides as we collapsed, shrieking as though possessed, to a fiery end beneath.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Five: The Grand Cathedral

The locomotive avalanched back down onto the tracks, hundreds of tons all slamming down at once. Had I not willed myself to my seat (by closing my eyes and imagining a very peaceful touchdown), I would have certainly dashed my skull on the cab's roof. NiGHTS was not quite as fortunate as I, though, and did actually smash right through the cab's roof.

The massive monument approached, hogging the lane of the track, only a few rapidly closing hundreds of feet away. I threw down the throttle and reached for a lever near the base of the cab, pulling it with all my might. The locomotive screamed and bellowed, sparks flying from its drivers, as I applied the manual brakes. Inertia knocked me clear out of my chair and against the front window, threatening to press me through the glass, as the engine itself seemed to ride up on its front axles, so fiercely did it stop. The dark spires ahead rushed forwards as though on rails themselves—I could see the base of the rails lead right into the massive stone ramparts, a lethal bumper no engineer would ever dream to see.

The brakes crackled and screeched as the whole train drew to a lurching stop, the wheels turning upon their own wretched momentum, as the walls closed overhead. The engine coasted to a heart-wrenching stop, bumping ever so gently against the walls, inches from utter devastation.

I could hear the iron sizzling, see the flames licking the journals of the wheels of the cars behind the engine. I noted how the rims of the drivers glowered ever so slightly red, dangerously heated with the friction of the sudden application of the brakes, surely now burnt to the metal.

I swiveled around, looking for my lost companion. "NiGHTS? NiGHTS?"

"Up here, darn it!" the jester yelled. I looked up, and nearly giggled at what I saw. NiGHTS's legs protruded from the bottom of the roof, her top portion apparently forced through the metal roof. Judging by her kicking, she did not find her position at all pleasing.

"Here, NiGHTS, I'll help you…" I squinted up at her, imagining a laser beam slicing out a large chunk of metal around the hole she was lodged in. Sure enough, the jester fell back down, the sheet of iron around her waist splitting in half and falling off as she landed neatly on her feet.

"Sorry about that," the jester said, brushing herself off of a layer of iron fragments. "Yikes! What was up with all this?"

"We nearly pancaked against this REALLY inconveniently placed wall, that's what," I explained, motioning to the stone layer a few feet away from the front of the cab. "When I figure out who put this here, I'm going to make him very sorry that he did!"

"Nice threat there," NiGHTS said dully. "So, are we gonna check this thing out or what?"

"Of course we are," I said staunchly. "C'mon, Dualize with me, we can check it out from the sky."

She happily offered me her hand, and after conjoining, we took back up into the sky, rising up a hundred feet into the air. The towering structure which the offensive wall encircled was massive, easily the size of four city blocks put together. Even from my lofty position I was still dwarfed by its height, which NiGHTS suggested conservatively to be a few hundred feet higher.

_What is this big thing?_ NiGHTS inquired from inside my head. _Some kind of big train station?_

Yes, a train station with stops that would take swings at parked cars. This isn't a train station, by any means. Actually, judging by the shape of the spires, and all those crosses on the lower peaks, I'd reckon that it was...

A church…

I blinked at the structure for a few moments. I could just make out the towering colossuses of the Holy Family in the building's front courtyard, easily the size of upturned trailer trucks. After noting the equally recognizable figures of the Three Wise Men and a few shepherds with sheep, I began to make out a prominent theme of the place. With a sudden spur of wrath, I reacted.

Excuse me for a few moments, NiGHTS.

With all the tact of a skydiver, I un-Dualized with NiGHTS and fell, arms outstretched, from the sky. This time, however, I had all the purpose in the world for it. I fell like a meteor down towards the outer wall of the structure, and after a moment I touched down with all the grace and style of an artillery shell.

Massive stones and mortar went flying everywhere as I drove straight through the wall, down ten feet to its very foundations. I swept out my arms, feeling the Power ripple around me, as I gouged a hole twenty feet abreast in the wall, hurling chunks of rock all over the place. Rising to my feet in the cloud of whitish dust, I shook off my hand as though I had simply punched though a layer of plaster rather than a huge section of stone.

NiGHTS landed beside me; I detected some concern in her stature. Paying one final moment to the wall, I decided that fire was the missing element, and with another sweep of my arms lit all the rocks on fire with a greenish flame. The fires burned, scorching the stones black, and smoldering satisfactorily lingered as I turned back towards NiGHTS.

"This is a slight by the powers that be," I explained, crossing my arms. "A mockery of my powers here—a reminder of what things are… back home."

"You don't like rock walls?" NiGHTS asked cautiously.

I shook my head. "I like rock walls, they're an attractive form of art. It's the whole religious motif I despise." I let a scowl slide across my face. "This is a crèche, a kind of religious model popular in the homes of Catholics around Christmas. I hate these damn things, ESPECIALLY the big ones!"

NiGHTS cocked her head. "Why, though?"

"Because my folks have this massive crèche that hogs all the space under the Christmas tree that they don't let me move away," I said stiffly. "I want to set up my trains under the tree but there's a humongous crèche we set up that's always in the way. Ever year my complaints get laughed off."

I paused briefly, to let my words sink in. "I know it sounds trivial, but it's a symbol for a deeper argument. You see, my parents, in fact everyone in my family, are very religious people. I am not. They shove their crèches, their idols, their ceremonies and all their nonsense onto me whether I like it or not. Religion is always rubbed in my face!"

I spun around, to face the inside of the wall—the offensive crèche figures, the colossal saints and holy men. "At home, I stomach my complaints so I don't ignite any wars. Here, however, is a whole different manner—I will not tolerate such injustices!"

NiGHTS leaned on my shoulder, speaking softly into my ear. "You're pretty fired up about this, aren't you?"

I sighed. "It's been a smoldering issue for the last few years. I can't demand that they NOT participate in their stupid little ceremonies, but I can't avoid getting jammed into them either…"

The jester shrugged. "Well, we can't do anything about _that_ right now, but I'm pretty sure there's plenty of room for you here in Nightopia. It _is_ what you make it into, Narrator."

"That's a pretty good idea." I turned back towards the courtyard, and the graven statues. "Hey! All you holy idols! How 'bout we make a compromise? I move you and your crap out of my way and I don't smash you all to shrapnel this very second? How's that deal sound, huh?"

Listening to the silence, I gave NiGHTS a knowing wink. "If only my parents were so agreeable, eh?" I then turned back, raised my hand in the air, and with all the grace of a rising leviathan, the entire floor of the cathedral, statues and all, rose up into the air. Massive white pillars rose up from beneath, along with glass paneling, smaller columns, handrails and benches, all the necessities for a good working train station. The station rose up thirty feet before finally stopping, its mighty vaults supporting the massive weight of the building above it. With a clatter of wood and iron, rails knitted themselves in between the platforms, connecting the lines that the cathedral previously bisected.

I dusted off my hands. "I'll decide whether or not the annoyance is enough to warrant my nuking this whole dump later. I suppose we might as well have a look around this cathedral before I convert it into another wonderful train station."

"I see you keep your promises like Wizeman does," NiGHTS commented dryly. "To the letter, and not an inch further."

I shrugged. "This whole rising affair is only a temporary measure. Church is an all or nothing matter, and with my track record, I much prefer the nothing."


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Six: Sanctuary Chamber

The entrance to the cathedral I found prominently in front, flanked by two great doors perhaps a score in feet high. The doors were gilt with precious metals and sacred emblems, evoking a slight scowl from my features as I passed through them, a vague feeling of disgust passing through me.

The pathway led through a small reception area of fairly typical size, with all the usual amenities a large church might be expected to have. Pushing open another set of doors, I found before me a spread even I thought remarkable. The cathedral's interior was an immense cavern of gothic glory, with massive vaulted stone ceilings looming up incomparably high, to the point where simply looking upwards inspired a sudden and acute sense of vertigo. The stained glass windows that framed the walls depicted the sainted few, the high council of the church, gracelessly glaring upon the non-existent congregation. There had been many buildings in my previous Nightopias that were of much greater size, but none that possessed the sheer weight of this palace of piety. I could feel the load of its dark stones upon me, pressing like a heavy hand upon my shoulders.

NiGHTS shivered from beside me. "I don't like it in here," she said nervously.

I could feel the shadows form on my face as I coldly responded. "I suppose this to be some metaphor of my views of religion." My steps echoed as I strode forwards, a deathly drumroll. "That which I despise, and yet still hold dear- an addiction, a disease I cannot be rid of."

"This is Nightmare," NiGHTS murmured, looking around with concern. "I can feel Wizeman's eyes upon us here."

I shrugged. "No one man can claim this broken ground."

We walked up the center aisle, past the rows of innumerable pews. The saints stared upon me from their high precipices, and I stared back, returning their dark looks with my own. I could see the familiar altar up ahead, set as though for a mass, with the golden chalice of the host and the sacred book set upon it.

I maneuvered up to the altar, mounting the steps to the top of the platform that the marble table stood upon. I looked down at holy sigils draped over its surface, shining mirthless silver against a dark red fabric.

My eyes fixed on the golden chalice, the great gilded goblet, center of the religious ceremonies I so despised. I reached out to it, curling my hands around its long stem. The chalice was heavy in my hands, and I nearly strained to lift it, but I craned it over in my grasp, holding it as reverently as I could manage. "Heavier than I expected… must be solid gold."

"What is it?" NiGHTS asked, peering curiously at the chalice.

"This," I explained, holding the cup aloft (with some difficulty), "Is one of many Christian curiosities of worship that _way_ too many people have gotten killed over. Big deal to most Catholics."

Pausing, I shifted the cup in my hands. "Goes against my personal beliefs, though," I murmured, almost to myself. "Nobody should have to die about such a petty little item." I scowled, my hand tightening around the chalice's handle. "Such a wretched piece of _crap_… sad, really."

As I turned about to replace the grail upon its seat, an unseen force struck it from my hands with a _clang_. I watched with glassy eyes as the gilded cup ascended in a high trajectory, slowed, and turned aside, tumbling back to the ground. It smashed into shards against the marble floor of the cathedral, showering the air with sacred shrapnel. Little copper cartridges—twenty-two caliber bullets—clattered noisily to the ground all around it, rolling and bouncing wildly as they landed.

I turned quickly back towards the altar, thrusting my hands to my sides, and the two heavy blaster pistols holstered on my belt. I raised the two weapons into the air, but something knifingly sharp slashed over both of my knuckles; I yelped and convulsed, fumbling both weapons as a sudden burn cut across the backs of my hands.

Clutching my hands against my chest, I looked up at the altar, and the astonishing figure perched upon it. I saw the inside of a cape, midnight black in color, white on the outside, hooked around the nonexistent neck of a notably disembodied Maren's head. This foul creature was the same jester-creature that NiGHTS, Reala and Mariner were, colored in several sickening tones of orange, and spotted with shapes I recognized as the four suits, from spades to diamonds. It had no body to speak of, but two little feet, and two hands, as disconnected as two separate bodies but positioned as though in correlation with the head. The Maren had a lazy eye which, along with its crooked grin, made it look dangerously psychotic.

The disjointed Nightmaren leaned forwards on the altar, procuring a handful of playing cards from midair. It flashed these at me; I recognized their shape to be those of Tarot cards, although I was too unfamiliar with the set to make any real sense from them. The creature cackled at my confused expression. "The cards speak clearly," the creature rasped in a rusty-dagger voice, "That you are doomed!"

The Maren-jester flipped the cards violently towards me, sizzling as they cut the air. I covered my face with my arms, fully expecting my forearms to be ripped halfway asunder. A familiar hand seized my elbow and wrenched me aside, the killer cards whizzing right past my ear and very nearly nicking me.

NiGHTS' arm locked around my waist, and the jester clutched me protectively against her as she confronted the card-slinging Maren. "You're in this too, Jackle?"

The orange Maren cackled again. "Sorry for the delay, but you're a difficult one to keep pace with!"

I nudged away from NiGHTS, watching the sickly-colored creature recline on the altar, making himself comfortable on the holy table. I could not stop myself from chastising him, dangerous villain though he was. "That is not for sitting on, you know!"

Jackle's head turned in my direction; I edged backwards, feeling the ignorance of my words. I could actually see right through his face, and found the contrast between his toothy mouth and the violet drapes somewhere behind. "You speak highly for one of such little demeanor," he replied. He spun his right hand in an arc, flipping another card out from midair. His blue eyes flicked sideways; I noted one of his eyes widen, slightly. "Perhaps there is more than meets the eye to this little Visitor?"

Jackle flipped the card around in his claws, displaying to me another face of a card I did not recognize. This time, I was better prepared when he flicked it towards me. I seized it with a flourish, casually tossing it aside as I replied, "Like hell there is."

The card-tossing Maren summoned a sweeping handful of cards, with which he fanned himself absentmindedly, his hollow gaze affixed on me. "Prove it."

I narrowed my eyes; if this goof wanted a show, he'd get one. "Very well then. Let's hope you like your hand then!"

The backs of the cards morphed from their classic color to the much more familiar paper bag brown color of the classical collectible card game, Magic the Gathering. Jackle's look of disinterest rapidly morphed to a look of surprise, and then terror. "What… is this?"

"Voila, you are now Jackle the MTG Fan," I proclaimed, motioning to the cards he held. " '_Scry 3_' that, seer."

The Nightmaren stared blankly at his spread of cards, looking quite thoroughly surprised. "I know not the signs of these cards…"

"Precisely; you know not of my powers." Placing my foot vainly on the stairs up to the altar, I proclaimed, "I am Narrator, Creator-Lord of Nightopia; know now my might!"

Jackle blinked once or twice, and then stood up atop the altar, going into a sweeping bow. "All bow and worship Narrator, Master of the Cards!" he rasped.

I was rather disheartened by his sudden reverence. "Umm, no, that won't be very necessary," I stammered nervously. "I'm more the 'respect and honor' type than the 'bow and worship'." My look souring, I cast a scathing glance towards the stained-glass window above the altar, depicting an image of a very solemn Jesus. "We already have too many of those."

Jackle fingered the cards for a moment, looking quite distraught; detecting some feelings of upset (he seemed the sort to have obsessions with his possessions), I turned his cards back to what they had been. He seemed quite heartened by this, and folding up his hand, tucked it away somewhere out of sight. "Surely you are of considerable merit then…"

An intriguing thought occurred to me, seeing the reverent look in Jackle's eyes. "Well, I suppose I could always use another playmate," I said almost absentmindedly. "Perhaps you'd like to consider joining my crew, Jackle?"

"Join you?" The Maren looked at me oddly; so did NiGHTS, apparently in much the same manner.

"Sure," I said, in the most encouraging tone I could manage. "You seem like a pretty nifty guy to me. Who knows, maybe I can use you in a story or something."

Jackle cocked his head. "I may consider it," he said, somewhat uncertainly.

I shrugged. "Take your time, I mean, I have all—"

I was suddenly and rather rudely interrupted by the grating roar of a machinegun a few feet from my head. The horrendous noise fragmented my train of thought and nearly knocked me sideways; covering my ears, I turned to the side, facing fearfully the source of the sound.

Looking more wrathful than ever, Mariner stood right over my shoulder, a machine pistol pressed into his hand. Before I could comprehend anything further, he drew a sawed-off shotgun up in his opposite hand and, in a single dreadful motion, blew a hole clear through my midsection.

I felt no real pain, but the shock rippled through me like a tidal wave. Mouthing silent gasps, I crumbled to my knees, clutching my abdomen and staring into the swirls in the marble floors with glassy eyes.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Seven: Unhallowed

I tried weakly to rise, but Mariner slammed his foot down on my back, stifling my efforts. "So falls the great and mighty Visitor," he sneered from above me.

Where was NiGHTS to save me? I looked quickly around from her, but in my cone of vision I did not see her. This concerned me greatly, as I felt a sudden and urgent need of her abilities. Actually, considering my position at the time, I gladly would take whatever help came my way!

Jackle hopped down off the altar and began floating around it. "Does Master Wizeman soon approach?" he wondered aloud, pulling out several cards. He glimpsed at them, reached some conclusion from them, and then put them away. "Indeed, steadily does he grow nearer…"

"We've just got to keep this little maggot under control," Mariner said staunchly. "If he tries anything funny, I'm shooting him again!"

Jackle cast Mariner a bemused expression. "We have orders not to kill him," the orange Maren responded, vaguely questioning in tone. "Why do you… try your luck?"

Mariner laughed coldly. "Try my luck? There's no luck involved. I'd just tell Wizeman the Awakeners got him before I did."

"That would be rather irresponsible of you," Jackle said distantly.

The gun-toting Maren snorted, his foot pressing harder between the blades of my shoulders. "Master Wizeman says that Visitors are abhorrent to him," he said with a snarl. "Why would he say for them not to die if that is all he wants in the end?"

Jackle drew another handful of cards, fiddling with them in his clawed grasp. "Hmm. Indeed."

I was beginning to come to grips with the situation I had at hand. I had been very clearly shot through by Mariner, and yet the only pain I felt was from his foot. Beyond my initial swoon I did not feel very effected by shock; come to think of it, I was feeling better by the moment. I twisted my head, looking for a pool of blood to mark my injury, or my own innards splattered on the marble. Seeing none of these made me rather suspicious. Perhaps I had escaped injury, through some diabolical Creator power of mine. Perhaps it was time for my return.

Mariner was rather occupied yelling in his usual disgruntled tone at Jackle. "You weren't doing so good when I dropped in here either, you know! I didn't see YOU trying to suppress the little cretin yourself!"

The card-carrying Nightmaren's response was, as usual, aloof: "So you didn't. Indeed."

Mariner bristled, aggravated by Jackle's indirect answers. He rose up into the air to launch another barrage of shouted complaints, and in that moment I reacted. I flipped over onto my back, summoned one of my signature stick grenades, and pulling the pin with my opposite hand, tossed the lethal bomb into the air. The tumbling explosive, and resulting report, flung Mariner away from me, allowing me to remount my feet and confront him. I pulled my flipaxe up off my belt, flicked it open to its full four-foot length, and with a squeeze of the handle activated its green plasma blade. The axe vibrated, thrumming reassuringly in my hand as I spread it out backwards, transitioning into my dueling stance.

The outburst of violence was immediate. Mariner let loose a roar and, raising both his pistol and shotgun, began firing wildly in my direction. I outstretched my hand and projected a wall of Power, harmlessly deflecting his projectiles. I then stepped forwards and swung at him with my axe; he was just fast enough to duck out of range once, twice, and three times as I hacked and slashed at him. Right before I cleaved him in half, he teleported away with a rattling _crack_, my axe passing through only a cloud of gunsmoke.

Taking the opportunity to switch tactics, I outstretched a hand, tugging at my pistols where they lay on the ground. The weapons cartwheeled into the air, leaping towards me. I nosed my plasma axe into the marble floor and seized both weapons, pivoting back around, in the direction I presumed (correctly) Mariner had moved. Sidestepping to avoid a burst of shotgun pellets and hot slugs, I returned fire with a torrent of glowering blasts, the heavy pistols singing as they drained their energy cells. Clamping both triggers into full automatic, I was able to suppress Mariner, forcing him to stop firing and spiral haphazardly backwards, nimbly dodging my shots.

A razor-sharp Tarot card knifed my face, brushing my cheek. As the world around me suddenly took the appearance of an Impressionist painting, I heard my glasses clatter to the ground some distance away. I turned in the direction the card had come from, only to receive another, this one slashing my shoulder. As I tensed my arm against the burn, I noted the fuzzy form which I presumed to be Jackle, stretching an arm to throw another card. I fired wildly at him, sending a sufficient amount of plasma to prevent him from doing any harm.

I heard the harsh _clack_ of a magazine being fitted to a rifle from behind me; Mariner was readying another attack. I grimaced. One high-level Nightmaren was bad enough, but _two_? If I wasn't Narrator, and therefore invincible, I might have cause for concern!

I had to cut down on numbers. I holstered both of my pistols and conjured a pair of stick grenades, tossing them sideways. However, I had slightly misjudged my aim, and when the two explosives detonated, the dust cloud produced didn't adequately cover my withdrawal. I took three steps and felt something heavy ram me from the rear. I overbalanced and collapsed, catching myself with both hands. I got halfway back up, turned to see Mariner lunging with another kick. The blow connected, the impact once again knocking me prone.

The soldier-Maren cackled, resting his assault rifle against his shoulder. "What? Can't fight someone bigger than you, Visitor?"

I told him to go play in traffic, a comment by which he was not amused. Mariner brought his rifle to his shoulder, aiming it at me. I rapidly set to thinking what ridiculous gimmick might allow me to escape this most vexing situation.

With a ripple as though passing through a pool of water, my problem solved itself before I was quite done weighing my alternatives. NiGHTS reappeared, zipping by as a purple bolt. Mariner snarled and opened fire; barely outmaneuvering him, NiGHTS twirled a circle around me. I saw her streamer flash…

I landed solidly on the ground without leaving it, in that moment severely disoriented. It took me a moment to recognize that I was still in the same room as before, just several feet away. I had landed on my feet, however awkwardly; a fortunate fact as I had sudden good cause to move as Mariner whirled around, hosing me with high-velocity rifle rounds.

With an audible yelp, I leapt backwards, ducking behind the nearest large, wooden, rigid structure, the cathedral's bulky tabernacle. I would have likely found some offense in the box's resulting fate were I not so obsessed with saving my own sorry posterior, but by the time the thought occurred to me not to put any more religious artifacts on the line for my sake the sacred box was already shuddering as it soaked up bullets. The rounds shredded the tabernacle, clawing its thick wooden skin, collapsing its roof, and blowing the tabernacle door clear off its hinges, scattering items of ceremony across the floor. Through some apparent miracle, no rounds escaped from the box's far side, and I escaped injury.

Mariner suddenly ceased firing as NiGHTS lunged for him. With a very audible _thwack_, the violet jester kicked him into the air, and dropping his rifle he crashed headlong into a pillar a few yards from me. The gun-Maren was only irritated by this, and bounced back into the air, pulling his machinegun out of hammer space.

Before he could use the weapon, I resummoned my axe and hurled it at him. Mariner recoiled and thrust out his MG to stop it; the plasma axe passed neatly through the weapon, cleaving it asunder, and buried its blade in the Maren's chest. Mariner convulsed and fell from the air to the ground, my axe dislodging and clattering to the ground some distance away, still glowering fluorescent green.

I turned back towards Jackle; the card-Maren was much occupied fighting NiGHTS, and judging by his constant weaving and ducking, faring none too well. I moved towards the altar, where the two were engaged.

Mariner's anguished roar recalled my attention. I swiveled back around to see Mariner back in the air, pulling up his Uzi from his side. Summoning a wad of Power to my hand, I made a constricting motion, injecting it into his gun; the Uzi crumbled up like a sheet of paper, falling useless from Mariner's hand.

I heard Jackle screech from behind me; I swiveled around to investigate, to see NiGHTS twirl around the card-reader, enveloping him in a Paraloop. I turned back to find Mariner on the tail end of a spine-snapping windup punch. I ducked, evading one attack, but the wounded Maren caught me in the stomach with one of his knees, knocking me off my feet. He thrust out his foot to strike my chest, but I seized his leg and reeled him backwards, flinging him away from me. I hopped back up to my feet and, seeing him about-face and return, thrust out my open hands, activating a Power shield. The emerald sphere flashed around me like a cage of ethereal bars; Mariner struck it with his foot, only to be jolted with a massive dose of Power that hurled him backwards.

I stepped towards him, to finish him off, but Jackle's cape flashed in front of me as the Maren materialized directly in my path. His incorporeal eyes and floating features startled me, and his Spherin-hands seized the front of my coat, tearing into my chest. Before he could start to draw my Ideya from me, I recovered from my surprise and flashed my shield again, stunning him with a blast of Power. I tried to shove him away, but my hands passed right through his nonexistent body; Jackle cackled wickedly, and knocked me backwards, shoving me onto the stairs leading to the cathedral's altar.

I reached to my sides only to realize I was missing my sidearms; they had been dislodged in all the ups and downs of my close-in fight with Mariner. As Jackle lunged at me again, I decided a change in tactics was in order once more. Drawing from my bottomless pool of Power, I thrust forward my hand, generating a tremendous gust of wind. The blast hurled Jackle backwards into the pews, smashing through two entire rows of the wooden seats.

NiGHTS came up behind me and, beckoning wildly, exclaimed a warning. I then noticed Mariner, still not out of the action, leveling a rocket launcher in my direction. As the cathedral boomed with the terrible echo of the launcher's backblast, I leapt for safety, praying I would escape the rocket's blast.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Eight: Pharisees

The rocket screamed past me, slamming into the marble altar with a horrific cacophony of sound. A ball of fire consumed the front of the church, swallowing the altar in a horrific tapestry of dark smoke. The concussion flung me into the air. I somehow managed to twist myself around so that I landed soundly on both feet, and avoided any serious harm.

I expected that Mariner would have exhausted his ammunition and be forced back upon his more mundane weapons, but he simply pivoted around and aimed at me once more with the launcher, completely skipping any kind of reload. The rocket screamed towards me like a fiery arrow, driving up a pillar of exhaust in its wake.

I desperately thrust forward my hands, reaching for the oncoming missile. My timing was miraculous; my fingers closed upon the hot iron head of the missile, somehow clutching its surface like a thrashing fish. Before the rocket slipped from my grasp I had just enough time to shove it sideways, out towards the middle of the cathedral. The projectile shrieked away and swallowed the solemn portrait of a saint on a wall, the stained-glass bursting in a colorful shower.

I lunged away just as a third rocket cut past me, blowing a cavity clear through the wall of the cathedral as it went. I was getting annoyed by the constant firing, and attempted to conceive of some tactic to keep from being blown apart.

I gritted my teeth. It was time to get serious. I needed some serious suppression, and I had an idea of just how I could get it. In my mind, I panned through all the images I had ever conceived of Silver Crescent's bodyguard robot, K-5. He was about the size of a large beach ball, formed from curved wedges of Power-steeped steel, built from the blueprints of a fossilized Framer machine. He could unfold into a walker mode about four feet tall, like a Star Wars droideka but thinner, more slight, and capable of floating like a Halo Sentinel. Mounted atop his wiry neck sat a wedge-shaped head with a single triangular eye that blinked different colors according to his perceived moods, and a computerized voice with a surprising affinity for Silver Crescent's own dry humor…

With a flicker of colors, K-5 materialized right in front of me, as though responding to my summoning. His eye flashed red as he uncoiled into attack mode, his spindly arms folding out like jackknives to reveal the stubby barrels of his plasma projectors. With a clap of static, his golden Power shield activated, a coursing curved barrier that wreathed his hunched form.

A rocket slammed into the front of the levitating machine's shield; the barrier flashed red, and then rapidly returned to its usual color. K-5 deactivated the barrier as he thrust forward his arms and opened fire, pelting Mariner with a burst of plasma shells. The gun-Maren moved away, recoiling as though struck, and vanished behind a pillar. K-5's super-heated shots pitted the pillar's surface with deep indents before he ceased firing, craning his triangular head around as though searching for an ambush.

K-5 twisted around, his mechanical eye focusing on me, flickering to violet with concern. "_Are you wounded, Narrator?"_

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. I'm more worried about my companion, NiGHTS, than myself."

"_NiGHTS._" The bodyguard droid scanned the room, his eye morphing to a mottled brownish tone; a little yellow light clicked on beneath his lens, indicating he was using his Powersight to search for invisible energies. "_I do not detect any extra presences here."_ K-5 looked back towards the pillar. "_Your assailant is waning. He is radiating Power._"

"That means he's badly wounded," I concluded with a frown.

"_It would be unwise to simply leave him," _K-5 advised, his eye changing back to violet. "_Even upon death's door are Frights a danger._"

"Hmph. I'd feel a lot worse if he wasn't such a massive pain in the ass," I replied crossly.

K-5 flexed his arms, his eye turning a royal blue. "_Then you are saying you do not care if this opponent dies?"_

I shuffled my foot with a tired sigh. "It is rather inconsiderate of me, I suppose. Should I, uh, see him out or something?"

"_I have no particularities on this issue,_" K-5 said dully. "_If you believe that is the correct option in this circumstance, I will support your choice._"

I walked cautiously across the floor of the cathedral, moving towards the pillar Mariner had vanished behind. My footsteps echoed eerily, reminding me of the gravity of the building around me. I made a mental note to tear the cathedral end from end as soon as I left it. I did not need more monuments to deaf and blind deities.

I found Mariner reclined on the floor, gazing listlessly at his feet. Glossy darkmatter pooled like blood around him, bubbling as it attacked the marble floor. He seemed to gain some rigidity as I watched him in concerned silence; he slouched backwards, face splattered with the murky gleam of his vital essence, and looked regretfully up at me with uneven eyes.

After a moment of silence, Mariner furrowed his brow, speaking with surprising spite for a dying man. "Well, Visitor? Are you just going to watch?"

I was surprised by his question. "Just watch?"

The stricken Maren let out a single bleak laugh. "I am not deceived… by you. You intend to finish me off. Be quick with your work."

"Why would I want to do that?" I asked with distaste.

"I am your enemy, you stupid Visitor." He had the smile of a man headed to the gallows. "I am a Nightmaren… a failed dying Maren. You may as well… save my Master the trouble."

I looked at Mariner, and then looked aside, towards the black-scarred stones of the altar, overturned. "You want me to just kill you already?"

"Visitors hate Nightmaren," Mariner continued blandly, meeting my gaze as I turned back to him, "As much as we hate them. I will not beg for quarter…" He turned aside, looking at the growing pool of his own blood. "I myself never gave any."

I turned aside once more, to exchange a long look with K-5. The bodyguard's eye flashed to violet. "_I have no counsel for you, Narrator. What you choose to do I will support._"

Mariner tried to lean forwards, but fell back again, a fiery expression of pain lancing his face. "_Do_ it already!"

I looked over at Mariner. Meeting his gaze as directly as I could manage, I shook my head. "I have no obligation to feed the machine."

As the Maren watched with a look of growing concern, I descended to one knee and outstretched my hand, laying my fingertips in the center of his chest. Darkmatter frothed as it contacted my fingers; Mariner stiffened, suppressing a wince. Pressing down slightly and tightening the muscles of my hand, I began channeling Control-laced Power into his body. A green glow enveloped my hand; with a metallic shriek, all the darkmatter in and around the felled Maren steamed madly, dispelled with the restoring presence of Order.

Mariner twitched and drew an anguished breath as I purified his body of the Dark One's blood. The green glow grew brighter as I drew from my pool of Power and poured in my own Order-enriched essence. I noticed very peculiarly no feeling of a loss; while Silver Crescent would have noted the lessening weight of his pool of Power in order to gauge his consumption, I felt absolutely no difference in mine, as though my pool was so great even a massive heal-Cast could not make a fathomable disparity. Mariner's body glowed as it routed Power to reconstruct its damaged portions, smoothing and filling his injuries in like wet clay.

After several continued moments of surge, I finally felt a stiff resistance that indicated Mariner's body had reached its Power capacity. I relaxed my hand, closing my flow of Power; the glow ebbed and died as the Cast ceased. Although I still possessed my fully colossal pool of Power, the potency of the Cast's termination, as casual as it was, still struck me with Power whiplash; as dislodged Control swirled erratically on the inside of my mind, I lost my balance on my legs and slipped backwards, thrusting my arms out backwards to catch myself. The Caster's illness passed shortly, though, and I remounted onto my knees, placing one foot solidly on the floor to lever myself back onto my feet, and viewed my handiwork, to ensure I had made no errors in my Cast.

For a few moments, Mariner was dazed (and rightfully so, as I had heavily reconstructed his body as well as his entire metaphysical system), and stared up motionlessly at the ceiling as though dead. Then he twitched, and blinked; the lights returned to his eyes. Mariner spread out his arms and pulled himself up, looking around with bewilderment. He looked at the cathedral around him, looked at his hands, his chest, and then his hands again. Slowly, the Maren looked over at me with an expression of amazed shock.

He said but a single word, in a voice full of wonder. "_Why_?"

Kneeling on the ground next to him, I shrugged. "Why _not_?"

Mariner looked away from me, as though finding it hard to meet my eyes. "I feel very strange," he said nervously. "What did you do to me?"

"I regenerated all the bits and pieces K-5 melted off of you," I said with a knowing smile. "Oh, and I also replaced all the darkmatter in your body and soul with Order. Both your physical and metaphysical form will be much stronger with the substitution."

Mariner closed his eyes, shuddering. "What is this I feel? I know I should be furious, but… I feel lost. What is wrong with me?"

"Probably the Order in your body equalizing out into your soul," I offered.

Mariner was quiet for a few moments. He reopened his eyes and gave me a guarded look. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I _feel_ like helping you," I said plainly. "Plus, killing people off isn't one of my strong areas. I don't whack a good character if it can be avoided, _especially_ if he's one of my favorites."

He stared at me with wide gleaming eyes, as though I had suddenly begun speaking Spanish. I continued speaking, to clarify my point. "We don't have to fight each other, Mariner. It's a waste of your time, it's a waste of mine, we are both very aware of it and yet you still insist on confrontation."

"In retrospect, it does seem rather fruitless," Mariner admittedly softly.

There was a long pause between us.

Finally, Mariner broke the silence with another question. "What now?"

I stepped towards him, outstretching my hand. "Join me."

Mariner took on another look of surprise. "_Join_ you?"

"Three compelling reasons," I offered. "For starters, I just healed you, so being an honorable person, you have a debt to repay. Secondly, your old Master isn't exactly going to take you right back in after you've failed to kill me. Third, well, I have way better benefits than Wizeman does, and will personally promise never to treat you as a 'disposable minion'."

"You want me to… help you?" Mariner questioned. "Even after all that I have done to you?"

I shrugged. "Crap happens; no one ever got anywhere by holding grudges." I moved my hand a little farther forwards. "You'll find a fairer lodging with me than anyone else. So, are you in?"

The Maren hesitated briefly. "I… will accept." He leaned forwards and grasped my hand. With a single smooth motion, I pulled him back up to his feet. He was stockier than I was, and yet seemed to weigh a fraction as much. I attributed it to buoyancy and set the matter aside.

I released him and crossed my arms. "Now, with that matter out of the way…"

Mariner bowed sweepingly. "What does my Master command?"

I twitched uncomfortably. "Okay, okay, basic rules of conduct are no bowing, no groveling, and for the love of God _no_ referring to me as 'Master'. 'Narrator' will do perfectly fine."

Mariner looked at me strangely, but nodded. "Very well then, Narrator."

"Furthermore," I added, "I think a slight costume change is in order. Let's see here…" I paused for a moment while I sketched out a new appearance for him inside of my mind.

I stepped towards him and tapped him solidly in the middle of the chest with my hand. In a brief flash of Power, his costume changed. Gone was the flak jacket and military boots, replaced with the garb of a Crescent Armada courier: a green gunweave uniform laced with protective padding on the chest, thighs and sections of the arms, boots of solid Genesian leather, reinforced with plates of high-grade steel. Gone as well was his helmet, replaced with an Armada helm, complete with Everstone crest and reinforced plastic visor, pushed up onto his forehead.

Mariner was understandably shocked by the sudden change. He looked himself over as though I had switched his entire body. "What is… this?" he wondered aloud.

"An armor upgrade," I informed him with a bit of pride. "Crescent Armada gear combines gunweave textile armor with metal and protective padding to provide a superior degree of defense against both ballistic projectiles and blades or bludgeoning weapons."

Mariner felt around his face, where he had previously had a Darkmetal ring hanging in front of his eye. "Where is my crosshair?"

I sighed. "Pull down the helmet's visor, it's got a decent Heads-Up-Display in it…"

The soldier-Maren complied, unfastening the catches on the visor's hinges and sliding the black screen down over his eyes. "Ah… I see it now. It isn't quite as nice as my old one though…"

Crossing my arms, I let loose a slight snort. "_Nothing_ is perfect, Mariner. The one Wizeman made for you was probably cursed or something. You look much better without it, anyways."

Mariner pushed the visor back up. "If you say so, Narrator."

"Take my word for it. I bet even NiGHTS would agree with me..." Recalling the jester's absence, I frowned slightly. "I do wonder where she went off to… she has such an annoying habit of disappearing when I'm not watching her!"

As though responding to my beckoning, the air in front of me rippled. I was surprised, however, when someone completely different emerged.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Nine: Repeating Nightmare

Flapping his little wings, Owl made a beeline straight towards me, making flustered commentary all the way over. "_Hoo_! My _sincerest_ apologies for my absence, Narrator—I would have come earlier, but there were so many Nightmaren_, hoo_, haven't seen this many in a very long time, I was quite worried about you, and afraid that-"

The chatty fowl suddenly paused when he noticed Mariner floating hesitantly behind me. "Oh my… _hoo_, such quick progress from a Creator! You are already redeeming Nightmaren!"

"Umm, not exactly," I protested, shying slightly backwards. "He's only my first…"

"Such a _powerful_ Nightmaren, too!" Owl hooted again with excitement. "You have already begun to master your _greatest_ power, then! Not only a Creator, but a Redeemer as well!"

I rolled my eyes. "_Oh boy_, now I get to be a Christ-figure too…"

"You should be _thrilled_, Narrator!" Owl said, alighting on the back of a pew nearby. "You are the first Visitor in _years_ to have mastered the skill of Redemption! Surely now, Wizeman can do nothing against you!"

"I've been here a little too long to believe that," I stiffly replied. "Wizeman has more dirty tricks up his sleeves than Count Mohawk in his unwashed cape."

"That is true," Owl admitted. "I got a little ahead of myself, from the excitement." He cleared his throat politely. "You must still recover your Ideya, Narrator. Once you have done _that_, Wizeman's hold upon your dreams will be forever broken!"

Mariner suddenly spoke out, a few feet to my right. "Pardon me for asking, Narrator, but what is this strange blue-mode?"

" 'Blue-mode?" I looked towards the former Maren. He had the visor of his helmet down, and was apparently tinkering with its special features. "What color's the little light in the upper right?"

"Gold!" he replied.

"The Gold Mode is a Power-seeking mode," I explained. "It shows you the Power sequences of everything around you. This cathedral is Time and Water elemental, so it should be very yellow and blue. I probably light up as solid green aura, and if you look at yourself you should see a red glow for fire-element…"

"Intriguing. How do I turn it off?"

"Gold button near the helmet's latch, should be the third one at the top," I said.

Mariner reached for the button, but suddenly paused, his hand clenching. "Narrator… I see a darkness approaching."

"Black means darkmatter…" I said, slowly realizing the meaning of his statement. "Typically Frights…"

Just as I turned to face the direction Mariner was staring, the massive doors of the cathedral flew open with a tremendous crash of wood and stone. A bloodied black meteor careened across the cathedral's open hall, veering hard right in my direction. Like a hell-sent missile it turned aside and curved directly towards me.

I clenched a hand and released a massive wave of Power. Time buckled and folded all around me as I created a Power Well, a sinkhole that caused a glitch in existence.

Slowly, I drew my plasma axe from my side, flipped it open and activated it. Stepping sideways and thrusting the axe sideways, I released my flow of Power.

Time rushed to fill in the pocket I had created. I felt a resistance on my axe's hilt, a horrendous roar of pain, and the satisfying sound of a heavy object moving very fast slamming into a very solid column.

I turned about, brandishing my axe. Reala pushed away from the pillar, one hand clutched at his side. I could see the withering flames in his eyes as he faced me, with all the grace and glory of an angered demon.

A crooked smile crossed his features, and a taunt was in his voice as he spoke. "What do you know… the Visitor has learned how to fight now, hasn't he?"

I shifted my axe in my hands. "I am not as weak as I used to be, Reala."

Reala's cold cackle was poisoned. "We shall see about _that_."

The Maren lunged for me. I ducked sideways and cleaved at him with my axe. Reala hooked sharply aside of me, dodging my swing, and slashed at my face with his clawed hand. I deflected him with a sweep of my arm and attempted once again to strike him; he stepped backwards and narrowly evaded my attack.

Reala moved forwards; I swung my axe at his shoulders, but he suddenly dove downwards and lashed out with his feet. He struck me in the shins and knocked me off my feet. I collapsed backwards on the marble floor, fumbling my weapon, as he drew back his arm and swept forwards to crush my skull beneath his fist.

I put forth both hands and fired a massive ball of energy at him. The green blast struck Reala like a cannonball, and sent him flying right into the front of the cathedral, crashing into and dismembering a statue of a pious religious figure.

Reala hopped back away from the statue's ruins, looking beaten but not defeated. "Hmph. Master Wizeman was correct about you… you are forgetting how to fear."

I stood back up and summoned my axe to my hand; I flipped it back up and extended its horizontal handle, converting it into a pistol. "Do you give up yet, Reala?"

The Nightmaren snarled. "I _never_ surrender, you impudent little punk! I am only getting started now…"

Reala snapped his fingers; the ground around me vibrated. I looked down, surprised, as darkmatter spines rose up from beneath me. The spines arched up and closed, forming a cage around me. Energy pulsed between the spikes, preventing me from simply chopping through. I prepared a Power Cast to smash through the prison, but I could not identify which element might be strongest against it. I tried a Water-Cast, but to no avail; the cage remained, untouched by the spray of blue-tinged Power.

Reala floated towards the cage, cackling to himself. "Don't even try breaking it, Narrator. Only a Courage Ideya could force it open, an artifact which you do not have."

"Not that alone, Reala," I replied with a devious smile, which rather perturbed the Maren. "A Nightmaren can also break this cage. Alas for you, that I know a few!"

I envisioned Mariner suddenly reappearing, surprising Reala, and then putting his iron-soled shoes through the cage, freeing me. The Dream Realm delivered my wish to the last degree, and it was exactly thus. Mariner appeared in a dash of bursting ammunition and broke open my prison. With a blast of Power Wind, I hurled the chunks of darkmatter aside like scraps of timber, and brandished my sidearm menacingly.

"_Mariner_?" Reala's looked of stunned surprise rapidly morphed to a look of angered disgust. "Do you _dare_ forsake your Master, your _creator_ for this little brigand?"

The soldier-Maren scowled. "He may indeed be a creator, but in no ways a master," he replied curtly. "I do not owe him any more debt than I owe you, and now my allegiances are my own choice."

"You treasonous little _swine!_" Reala snarled, raising a clawed fist. "Clearly you have fallen beneath this little Visitor's spell, and I must beat some sense back into you!"

Mariner shot me a brief but communicative look of concern, motioning slightly with his empty hands, and then looked back towards Reala. Of course; he was currently unarmed, and without my assistance in danger of being very badly thrashed. Quickly I fashioned a weapon for him from the air, something splendid and powerful enough to give him the edge he needed. Matter and Power flickered as flames in my hands as I formed an energy cannon, wrought from finest steels and irons, spotted with mechanisms of useful purpose. It was a cycle cannon, a primitive but powerful plasma assault weapon, held together while operating by rotational forces, utilizing powerful electromagnets and, in Mariner's special case, possessing an infinite quantity of ammunition and no capacity for overheating.

The weapon was heavy, nearly twenty pounds in weight, as I tossed it to him. Mariner seized it and fitted it under his arm, holding it as though he already knew exactly how it worked. Our timing was barely sufficient, as Reala let loose a fearsome roar and dove for Mariner, doubtless intending to rip him limb from limb.

The cycle cannon whined and shrieked, its air-cooled barrel whirling quickly in Mariner's hands, hesitating half a second before opening up with a steady deluge of plasma. Reala twirled past Mariner's shoulder, evading the stream of bolts that Mariner sent his way. The gunner-Maren turned about, lifting his finger briefly from the weapon's trigger, before taking aim again and continuing to chase Reala through the air with a torrent of flashing lights. As its coolant system approached maximum efficiency, the cycle cannon fired even faster, the exiting rounds becoming nearly indistinguishable from one another. Evaded plasma bolts melted holes and gashes in the cathedral's roof and walls as Mariner hounded Reala to the rear of the church, expending hundreds and thousands of rounds as the cycle cannon accelerated its fire.

I raised my own weapon and joined him in antagonizing Reala for a moment, before the Maren vanished in a ripple of red and black, to places unknown. Suspecting a surprise attack, I pivoted around, carefully inspecting my surroundings for any sign of a return. After several seconds of silence, I smiled and shrugged.

"D'you think we chased him off, Mariner?" I asked, looking towards him.

The gunner-Maren narrowed his eyes, holding his weapon steadily. "Reala is not one to leave without a fight. He's up to something; be on your guard, Narrator."

I nodded and continued to look about. Sure enough, I spotted a flicker of black from the corner of my eye, towards the ruined altar of the cathedral. I turned towards it to see darkmatter bursting as Reala appeared where the stone table had once stood.

I expected him to speak, to act, to do _something_, but instead he just smiled a wicked, fanged smirk that I found most foreboding.

"Narrator, look out!"

Hearing Mariner's voice, I whirled about, to see what had so demanded my attention, expecting to see...

The heat in my body left me instantly; terror, great and writhing.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Ten: Accursed Rendition

A shimmering line, dark and frigid, passed over a great spire of shined steel, spotless and tall. I could not look away from it; its spell was far too deep within me…

The force of the solid marble against my side jostled me from my stupor; I screamed, recoiled, and curled up into a ball on the floor. My mind rapidly retook control. I had fallen—I had been cursed, cursed with a sight of unimaginable fright.

I reached to my side, to retrieve my weapon; it was not to be found. I was no longer wearing my white overcoat, but rather my green hoodie and jeans. I was unarmed, unarmored, and completely unpowered. I closed my eyes for a moment, and felt the welcome relief of my body regenerating its blanket of warmth.

I looked up towards my opponent, to decipher what I could of it. I perceived a great dark object, a suit of black armor wreathed in shadows, topped with a glossy helm that no light could penetrate. The figure clutched an icy pale sword in one hand, with a long, narrow blade of brightest white, to the hilt poisoned with darkmatter. In its other hand it held a great barrier, a tower shield, nearly my height and width. A cruel sheen struck its gleaming side. The tower shield bore a reflective surface, a mirror. Why did I find it so hard to look upon it?

The dark creature floated towards me, raising its sword and shield. I gritted my teeth and, mounting my feet, prepared a counter-attack to split its iron hide asunder. Green Power danced in my hands as I reformed my plasma axe…

The creature thrust forth its shield. I glanced upon its mirrored surface, into great and depthless horror. All life seemed to flee me; I felt as though submerged in freezing water. Helplessly I stared into the shield, locked in its spell. I saw a human, very ordinary, wearing spotty glasses and dressed in common clothes. His complexion was horrific; strange features thrown together haphazardly as though by a careless artist. My mind screamed with denial, but I knew this man, this terrible, ugly, unlovable man of the mirror… I wished him to die, to be destroyed, torn apart and cast to the corners of existence never to reform, and yet he still remained, still stared with dull brownish eyes filled with unspeakable words…

The mirror moved aside as the creature behind it turned about. His sword lanced into the center of my chest like a brand. I screamed again, stumbling backwards and again off my feet, to the cold, uncaring floor.

I tried to summon Power, to use my abilities, but nothing came, nothing at all, as though my powers had been suddenly and horridly stifled. No strength came to my hands; I was human, not godly, nor capable of great or marvelous works.

The creature spiked me again with its terrible sharp sword. Strength had left me even to cry out; I whimpered feebly, falling flat upon my back. The demon of shadows loomed over me. I saw it shift its sword into the hand clutching its terrible shield, and then plunge outwards, down towards me.

Its iron talons drove into my flesh; I convulsed and thrashed, shrieking in stifled silence. The demon clawed and tore at me, ripping right through my body and into my very soul. No suffering so terrible had ever occurred to me as it seized a large chunk and pulled at it, trying to tear my very essence from my body…

Suddenly, there was a terrible lurch; the creature's claws were pulled away, out of my body. I heard voices, very distant but almost familiar. Someone was speaking, yet I knew not what they said. It was cold, so cold, so terribly cold I could not shiver, nor move, nor breathe…

Warm hands closed on my shoulders; the heat was searing, yet not painful; it shocked some sense back into me. My eyes reopened. I saw darkness and light shifting around me, but could make nothing of it.

The hands moved back and forth, shaking me. I lolled limply in their grasp, feeling sluggish and only partly awake.

Narrator. Someone said 'Narrator'. Narrator? Of what? Was there a story? I did not understand…

Narrator… did they mean me? I'm not Narrator, I'm just… I'm just some ordinary guy… a would-be writer who can't finish one of his own stories…

Am I Narrator?

I saw something bright blue in front of me, very bright and round, like a sphere. What was it? It seemed so familiar… there were two of them now… they're staring at me, it must mean they're…

In a flash of light, the world around me reformed. I recognized the cathedral's blackish tone, and remembered exactly where I was, and what had been happening there. I was about to lean forwards, but stopped to avoid hitting NiGHTS, who was leaning about a foot from my head. The jester was shaking me back and forth, looking very intently at me. She seemed extremely relieved when I focused back in on her face. "You're back! Are you okay?"

I nodded weakly, and NiGHTS pulled me back onto my feet. I wobbled around a little bit, feeling suddenly disoriented, but caught my balance. "Ah… what the hell was that?"

"Makara blasted you with his Mirror-Shield, and you almost left Nightopia, THAT'S what happened!" NiGHTS exclaimed.

I heard Reala's cold chuckle from nearby; I whirled around towards him, feeling a sudden need for a weapon. "It's a good thing NiGHTS was there to help you, Visitor… otherwise, you could have been lost forever in the darkness!"

I bristled at his sudden outburst of laughter. "THAT tickles your fancy, you little—" I yelled, belting out several colorful obscenities in his description.

"It most certainly does, my dearest Visitor," Reala said, grinning wickedly. "MAKARA! Strike him again!"

I turned about to find Mariner firing short bursts of plasma at the dark creature Makara, while dodging the Maren's sword swipes. The creature turned towards me, swinging about its shield; I yelped and recoiled backwards, looking away from it.

Mariner, hearing my exclamation, leapt to action by thrusting out his foot and kicking the shield aside; Makara spun backwards, encumbered by the shield's weight, and then swept back and lashed out again at Mariner, striking the gunner narrowly in the side.

I heard a loud noise from beside me; turning back, I saw NiGHTS deflecting Reala, who had apparently lunged for me while my attention was diverted. The two then broke out sparring again, fighting quite ferociously at close quarters.

I heard Mariner curse loudly; he had been stricken clean through by Makara, and was in the process of collapsing to the ground in a heap. The shield-bearing Maren turned towards me, once again bringing his shield up.

"Oh no you _DON'T_!" I extended my arms and sent forth a great blast of violet Wind energy; the force caught his shield like a kite and blew him backwards, up and over, sending him crashing into the pews.

Another loud sound came from behind me as Reala hurled NiGHTS into a wall, and thus temporarily relieved from the violet jester, was turning his attention back towards me.

With two very powerful Nightmaren headed immediately my way, I got right to work with saving my own keister. I summoned a weapon in my hand, a Madir Arsenal Eighty-Six, a chunky five-chambered revolver with a snub-nosed barrel the width of a twelve-gauge shotgun. Cocking the weapon in one hand, I took aim and fired at Reala; the force of the massive round threw my hand skywards and sent Reala head over heels backwards with a loud yell. Turning the chamber, I fired the weapon straight up, sending up a Starburst flare.

The golden light burst in midair, showering the cathedral in the bright light of Control. Makara emitted a horrific screech, burned by the light's sacred essence; I chambered another round and turned towards him, sending another Starburst directly at him, to keep him down a little bit longer. The demon deflected the projectile with its shield, and emitted another shriek as it cowered against the flare exploding a few feet from its head.

I heard Reala snarl from behind me, and I turned about just in time to see him lunge for me. He was far too late, though; my other Wards had sensed my summons. Silver Crescent appeared in a burst of power, knocking Reala aside with his narrow golden sword. Reala looped in midair and returned, diving towards the Grand Admiral, but before he could get more than a few feet NiGHTS tackled him, sending both of them through the air.

Silver Crescent turned back towards the cathedral's center and lashed out with his sword, firing his signature Power Cutter towards Makara. The silvery wave of Power impacted against the creature's shield, sending up a column of sparks as it deflected and dissipated.

"I see the Dark One is treating you now as a threat!" the admiral said, sternly, glancing towards me. "I do not think I can suppress this creature alone. Summon something more powerful!"

"More powerful than you, you mean?" I frowned, considering. "Hmm. I suppose that Goldeye might do in that regard…"

"More powerful than that!" Silver Crescent drew one of his Creylons and discharged several rounds at Makara; the creature threw forwards its terrible shield and deflected the bullets. "Makara and Reala are both Level Tens! Bring in something bigger than that!"

"How about a Level Eleven? THAT would probably work…"

The admiral whirled about and nearly took off my arm as he parried a lunge from Reala, who happened to be passing by. "_QUICKLY_!"

"In that case, pardon me," I commented, reaching to the admiral's leg. Right behind the sheath for his golden longsword was his backup, a long side-knife made from Starsilver; I pulled it off of him. Starsilver was a stronger, much richer blend of Everstone than the regular golden steel typified in Ward's weapons and armor, and Silver Crescent's knife was none other than the legendary Apprentice's Sword. If it was broken, it would summon the Ward's mentor, which in SC's case just so happened to be Felstr, reigning Emperor of the Wards and the best swordsman in all the Terrene.

I heard NiGHTS call out a warning from midair. I turned about to see Makara advancing, bringing the Mirror Shield to bear upon me. I hurled the Apprentice's Sword at it, forcing the foul creature to defend. The shimmering Starsilver splintered when it impacted the monster's shield, bursting in a ball of colors. Only slightly deterred, Makara continued moving, outstretching this time its long sword to run me through.

Makara suddenly lurched forwards, emitting a piercing scream; its hands fell to the ground, dropping both its shield and sword. The glowing white blade of Starria, Sword of Light, protruded from the center of its armored body.

Emperor Felstr cut the fiend to ribbons of darkmetal with a swirl of his hand, and with a ripple of Power scattered its body. Makara fell to the ground like a rain of ashes, sizzling and melting as his physical manifestation ceased to exist.

The Grand Ward of the Ancient Empire of the Terrene turned towards me, lowering Starria gracefully to his side. Like most Spherins, Felstr took the appearance of a great suit of armor wreathed in robes, a ball of golden light in his helmet providing the only physical occupation of his entire body. Although very distinctly inhuman, he had a pleasant, bright aura, a tangible feeling of relief and inspiration that affected anyone surrounding him.

"How considerate of you to join us, Emperor," Silver Crescent said with a faint smile.

Felstr had a voice that was regal yet unimposing, like a father speaking to his children. "_I am not one to miss an important occasion, Sergin._"

I smiled; with the Ward Emperor himself around, the Dark One's minions were all toast. "Let's finish off Reala and get moving again. I have an Ideya to reclaim!"

"I concur!" NiGHTS chirruped, suddenly appearing next to me.

I smiled at the jester for a moment, and then frowned. "Hey, where's Reala?"

NiGHTS giggled. "Oh, I took care of him. It'll be a few hours before he figures out where my Paraloop dumped him…"

"How convenient, all this fighting is starting to bore me." I regenerated my blasters and fitted them back at my sides. "I can see a door in the back of the church. I say we go there next and have a look around."


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Eleven: The Inner Sanctum

NiGHTS swept over to the wall behind the broken altar, pulled open the door and motioned for me to enter. I started towards it, but paused.

"Is Mariner alright?" I asked Silver Crescent. The admiral looked over his shoulder; Felstr was stooped over the wounded Maren, his hands glowing with Power.

"He will be fine; the Emperor is a very good healer." The admiral motioned for me to follow NiGHTS. "We'll stay behind and watch the entrance for you. Hurry on without us."

I nodded, and then turned back towards NiGHTS. I took the door from her. "Ladies first," I said with a smile. The jester giggled and strolled through the door; I followed her inside, allowing the heavy panel to close behind us.

The back of the church was very dark; the windows were fitted with panes of dark glass, emitting only a murky, hollow light. Looking forwards was like staring into the maw of a deep, dense cave that even light seemed to shy from.

NiGHTS fluttered from one side of the room to another, examining the walls. "Hmm. It's narrow here, walls are only a few yards apart…"

"It's a passage then," I said, frowning. "Wonderful. Hey, NiGHTS, can you sense any of my other Ideya here?"

"Can I?" NiGHTS stood up straight in midair, looking pensive. "Let's see. There's a whole bunch right _here_…" She reached out and touched her hand to my chest, causing me to move slightly backwards. The jester looked towards me and smiled sheepishly. "Very distracting, you know, those Ideya you have. Partly why I'm so scatterbrained, if you'd care to know…"

"Is that all, though?"

"Well…" NiGHTS turned around, looking into the deep abyss of the passage. "Wait, I think that I sense something… oh yes. There's an Ideya that way. A White Ideya, I would imagine."

"Which ones are the white ones again?" I asked her.

"Why, purity of course." NiGHTS grinned at me, rather disconcertingly. "Were you not listening to Owl when he said it?"

I sighed. "Oh, gee, I am very sorry, being chased around by every horrible Nightmaren in the whole of the Dream Realm gives a guy very spotty memory!"

"Oh, don't worry about it, I never listen to the old bird anyways." The jester held out her hand to me. "Dualize with me now."

I gave her an odd look. "Umm… why?"

"There always has to be a reason with you, huh?" the jester exclaimed with a laugh. "What ever happened to just _trusting_ me?"

"Sorry, goes against my personal policies to trust highly irrational people," I said flatly.

NiGHTS shook her head. "Alright then, fine. I can see a lot better in the dark than you can, and if you Dualize with me, you won't be walking into walls or tripping down the stairs."

"What if I just add night vision to my glasses?" I asked.

The purple jester frowned and adopted a pathetic stoop. "Then I'll be _sad_, 'cause you don't _like_ me anymore..."

"Point taken, you're even _more_ annoying when you're mopey." With this said, I took NiGHTS' hand.

Apparently the jester's baseball-sized irises did have one major payoff besides her signature appearance; her vision in darkness was nearly as good as in light. How she avoided blinding herself under normal lighting conditions was an entirely different matter, of course; maybe her receptors had very high tolerances of light. Regardless, I could see straight through to the back of the hall, where another door awaited.

We flew down through the hall and up to the next door. The door opened easily with a quick pull, allowing us into another room within. Surprisingly, the next room was fairly well-lit, even though we had flown down at least twenty feet into the ground in the passage. NiGHTS' stellar vision was completely unaffected, as though proving my theory.

_An Ideya is around here,_ NiGHTS commented.

I looked around the room, searching for the source of NiGHTS' perception. The room was fairly square, and appeared to be used as a storage room for the cathedral; odds and ends were strewn about, stepladders, cans of paint, tools of various uses relating to building nature. I noticed a tapestry hung up on the wall in the back of the room, and thought it looked suspicious.

I maneuvered to the back of the room and pushed the tapestry aside. Sure enough, my suspicions had been correct; it concealed yet another door. I pushed the door open and slid inside.

There was another long, dark hallway, almost identical to the previous one except a fair bit darker. I sighed. How far did the tunnels continue?

_It's not here, but it's close,_ NiGHTS persisted.

I hope that you are correct, NiGHTS. These catacombs are starting to freak me out.

_I don't like closed spaces much either, you know._ The jester stepped forwards in midair, dragging me along with her. _The best way to get out of here is to keep moving._

At the end of the hall, there was yet another heavy door, a great bulkhead of iron and wood that probably weighed a few hundred pounds off its hinges. I twisted its handle and heaved it open, moving through into the beacon of light emitted by the next room. The door closed behind me with a heavy, resounding clatter.

The room was surprisingly bright for something so far underground. It looked like a tomb, the sort of place one might expect to find some hero of legend's stone sarcophagus or an ancient Mayan treasure. Looking around, I noted that the light came from a mirror located above the entrance, which reflected light from a long shaft into the room. The beam of light came to rest on the opposite side of the room. Two tall stone knights, dressed all in gleaming Everstone, flanked a small pedestal. Perched upon it was a long, narrow, darkly-colored object, thrust like a spear into the very rock. A large, glowing ball of white light had been thrust upon it like a large, luminescent grape upon a lance of a toothpick.

NiGHTS thrust my hand victoriously into the air. _That's it! That's your Ideya!_

Very well then; I only needed to touch it to reclaim it then. I calmly stepped out of NiGHTS' body, landing lightly on my feet beside her, and walked over to the shining globe of dreaming-energy. I reached out expectantly towards it.

My hands met a hard, solid surface, a few inches away from the Ideya. Confused, I felt around the barrier, to assure myself that I indeed felt an obstruction. It had a smooth surface like glass, a very translucent and invisible glass. "What the heck is this?"

"You can't get it?" NiGHTS hovered over to my shoulder, a look of concern on her face. "Hmm. Although, seeing an Ideya just lying about here is pretty suspicious too…"

I attempted to force the barrier with my hands; it did not budge in the least. "How strange. Well, I'm not done trying yet. Maybe it needs a little encouragement…"

Stepping backwards, I spawned my plasma axe in my hands and switched it on. I lashed out at the barrier, striking it fiercely with the axe's glowering head; it bounced off pathetically as though it had an edge of rubber instead of energized iron.

Next I tried hurling a ball of fire-element Power at it; the projectile dissipated as soon as it made contact. Firing off a sequence of blasts using several different elements got me no further, although it did produce some very attractive special effects.

I scowled at the invisibly impermeable barrier, leaning on my axe. "That is _such_ bull."

"Let me try," NiGHTS offered. The jester took aim and smashed the shield with a very powerful kick; sparks flew, the barrier flickered red, but her foot was repelled.

"Fantastic. The Ideya is here, but I can't get to it." I rested my chin on my hands, thinking. "Maybe there's a gimmick or something here, to make the barrier vanish…"

I searched the immediate vicinity of the pedestal, looking for a clue in how to break the barrier. Looking down at the pedestal, I noticed a short inscription carved into the rock. I leaned forwards, pressing against the barrier, and began reading it. "Here lies the Hand of God, mightiest weapon in all of time and space. Held, used and misused by mightiest of men, the greatest of all commanded it be laid to rest… 'til Creator summon again."

I leaned backwards, giving the pedestal a puzzled stare. "Creator summon again… but wait, _I'm_ a Creator, so does that mean…"

"Have you figured out how to open it?" NiGHTS asked anxiously.

I smiled. "I don't think it's supposed to be opened."

I outstretched a hand, focusing on the Ideya, pinned onto the shaft of the Hand of God. "Come, my creation… your master summons you once again."

The weapon began to shake in its mounting, starting as a small quiver and shifting into a tremor. Then, suddenly, in two swift motions, it lifted out of the rock and slid straight out, towards my outstretched hand. It passed effortlessly through the barrier; my fingers closed around its handle.

I lifted the heavy weapon up into my arms. "This thing must weigh like forty pounds… now, to reclaim the Ideya."

I placed my hand on the glowing orb. It pulled away from the handle of the Hand of God, and passed straight into my open palm. In a flash of light, it was gone.

I closed my eyes as I felt the sphere's power wash over into me. Things were being set right once again in my universe, or so it seemed.

Standing up straight, I moved the Hand into my grasp, examining it; the weapon had mysteriously become much lighter, although I was unsure why. I looked it over with increasing intrigue as I suddenly figured out what it was. "This is… this is a wheellock rifle, not a spear…"

So it was; it had the familiar clockwork firing mechanism, the triggerguard, the long barrel and the triangular stock. I turned it over to examine its underside, and noticed that it appeared to lack a trigger. Looking again, I noticed that not only was it missing the trigger, it was also missing a hole under the mechanism for said part to fit into, as though it was never made to have one.

In order to operate, the mechanism would need to be wound like a clock. There was a small lever on the sideplate attached to the clockwork wheel that appeared to be designed for exactly that purpose. Placing the weapon's breech against my chest and holding the rifle's stock in my left hand, I grasped the lever and twisted it. I could feel the metal flexing slightly in my hands, sense a tiny amount of give in the mechanism, but to my displeasure could not encourage the weapon into operation.

NiGHTS, standing right over my shoulder, nudged me with her hand. "What are you doing, Narrator?"

"I was trying to load this thing," I explained. "Although it does seem a tad futile. How do I use a gun without a trigger?"

The jester shrugged, leaning backwards and reclining in midair. "Beats me, I don't know anything about those sorts of contraptions."

I shrugged. "I'm sure there's a trick to it, if I can just figure out what…" I lifted the weapon up, turned it around in my hands, checking for some detail I had missed.

The distant and yet very distinct sound of gunfire attracted my attention towards the door of the chamber. "Oh boy," I murmured. "That does not sound good."

The firing continued for a few moments; I stood still, intently listening. A sequence of deep, resounding crashes came from afar; no more weapons discharged afterwards.

"This does not bode well with me." I shifted the Hand of God into a sturdy, two-handed grip, walking over towards the door. "We should probably investigate this matter. Follow me, NiGHTS."

The jester gave me a concerned glance. "I have a _very_ bad feeling about this, Narrator..."

I looked at her, slightly amused. "Oh, come on, what could it possibly be that I haven't already dealt with, huh?"

"You have not dealt with everything yet, Narrator," NiGHTS said staunchly, leaning menacingly towards me. "Not _nearly_ everything."

There was a clatter from somewhere above, followed by another, louder and closer. After the third sound (a resounding crash of wooden planks), I came to the sudden resolution that someone, or some_thing_, was beating its way down through the hallway leading to the room I was in.

I panned over towards the door, concern mounting rapidly in my mind.

The chamber's door suddenly buckled and burst apart, propelling large splinters of wood as lethal shrapnel. NiGHTS seized my shoulder and hauled me backwards just as a hulking mass of black and silver crashed into the room.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Twelve: Hands of Darkness

A black creature, hunched and malformed, rose up from the cloud of dust and airborne splinters, emitting an ominous growl as it drew to its full height, blocking out the door with its bulk.

The Hand of God was heavy in my hands as I grasped its winding-lever and levered against it, trying to twist it around and cock the weapon. The mechanism might have been welded together, so immobile were its workings. The gears clattered as I jammed the lever back and forth, denied any sort of cooperation or motion.

I cast a worried look in the direction of the creature. My eyes stuck on it as I realized exactly what it was; my glance metamorphosed into a mortified stare. The dark form was no mere creature. It was a hand, a massive five-fingered wall of silvery metal the size and girth of a compact car. Emblazoned onto its palm was a burning red eye, glowering like a fiery lamp, half-lidded into a terrible perusing glare.

I heard NiGHTS murmur over my shoulder, in a voice heavy with fear: "_Wizeman…_"

Looking at her, seeing her glass-eyed gaze, freed me from the bonds of shock; my fear ebbed into anger. I turned back to face the hand. Furrowing my brow, I looked right into the creature's eye; the fires within crackled and burned, and I projected with a tone of glowering defiance. "What do _you_ want, fell creature?"

The eye seemed to open, slightly. The Hand of Wizeman spoke in a voice of Power; it struck me like a current of water, pushing against me and causing me to stumble. "_What I desire is what you should restore to me, mortal—the Ideya you have in your possession…"_

Spurring slightly, I leaned forwards. "Well, what if I don't want to? They're MY Ideya—they're MY soul, not yours!"

The Hand emitted an ascending roar; the eye flicked open, burning with a furnace's flames. The drafts seemed to clear all the fiery resolve from me, for a moment. "_FOOL AMONG MORTALS YOU ARE, SO-CALLED NARRATOR! YOUR IDEYA ARE MINE—YOUR BODY IS MINE—YOUR SOUL IS MINE—_YOU ARE MINE_!"_

Terrified, I quailed before the horrid creature. I fell to my knees, dropping the Hand of God. I covered my ears with my hands, but they did nothing to cease the terrible, scorching voice of Wizeman.

"_Your sudden submissiveness is pleasing to me,_" the Hand continued, in a voice now mocking and leery. "_Your heart knows its place, though your mind has forgotten—you pathetic, weak, frail little creature…"_

I wanted to get up and reply in kind, but I could find nothing resistant within myself. The fires of anger were gone, the hearth empty and cold. Strength had failed me—was I truly so weak as to fall apart at the sound of a voice? Surely my abilities were but my own fantasies, the practices I skipped while blissfully ignorant of the trials they should have prepared me for…

I felt hands close around my shoulders; soft, warm hands, NiGHTS' hands. The jester shook me around a little. "Narrator! Don't let him scare you! It's his magic that makes you weak, not yourself!"

Wizeman's voice was venomous; he was enjoying himself greatly. "_Yes, listen to NiGHTS, Narrator… listen and know your place, wretched human…_"

"I can't… I can't deal with it…" I cried in response, feeling entirely wretched. "I am so totally _screwed…_"

"No." NiGHTS' grip tightened. "No. You can't face him alone… but _we_ can."

"I don't…" I clenched all the muscles in my arms; the coals stirred to flames. "I don't need your help… I don't need _anyone's_ help. I have all I need… in my own-two-_hands!_"

I pushed myself up off the floor and remounted my feet. The fires roared inside. With a burst of wind, I drew the Hand of God back to me, snatching it up from midair.

Wizeman was none too pleased with my second wind. "_Do you so quickly FORGET YOUR PLACE, pitiful human?_"

This time I held steady; I would not be pushed aside. "It is not solely _I_ who forgets, Wizeman!"

I seized the lock of the Hand of God and wound it; with a single smooth motion, the mechanism twirled, sizzling and clattering as the spring wound backwards. How many times around did it need?—I counted not. The tension built up again—I twisted the gun onto its side and pulled, its butt flat on my stomach, levering the key with every muscle in my upper body. The gun clicked a few solemn tones, and then the lever stopped dead. The final, resounding noise was the throaty toll of a bronze bell; it tolled for an end close at hand.

Wizeman's eye drew into an intense glare, almost a sneer. "_Your little toys cannot harm me any more than your idle threats… now, submit to my rule, lest you be broken to it as all of my servants have…"_

I raised the rifle in my hands, but doubt jabbed at me; would what I was trying seriously work? I hesitated, only briefly.

And yet too long. The eye spread wide open, its voice a rending screech. "_SURRENDER TO MY DARKNESS!_"

The Hand rose into the air and swung down like a great axe. I balked, startled and terrified, but in the moment before my resolve broke, I made a single action—I thrust forth the Hand of God like a lance and blindly discharged it.

Rays of blazing light showered from the walls of the cavern as the rifle unleashed a shimmering bolt of lightning. Wind stripped the cavern as the gun violently recoiled; I pulled taught every muscle in my body, clutching the weapon with white knuckles as light, sound and color ran in rivers all around me

The colors faded, the sound diminished, and the light faded away. A ripple of shock passed through me; I limply lurched forwards, catching myself by driving the Hand's stock against the stones in the floor. Wearily, I looked towards the end of the room.

Wizeman's Hand hung in midair, its eye frozen in an ethereal stare, a single small hole drawn neatly through its pupil. The Hand quivered slightly, as if about to shake off its injury, but only for a moment. It crashed to the ground, a heap of twisted metal, fingers twisted in the coils of death. The eye stared up listlessly at the ceiling, and moved no more.

A faint, dazed smile spread across my face. I started laughing. Relieved, empowered, prideful laughter, the laughter of a weary champion. Grinning now, I stood up straight, turned the Hand of God end over end and hoisted it onto my shoulder; it was light in my hands, and no trouble whatsoever to carry.

I turned around to see NiGHTS staring in shocked bewilderment, as though I had just punched out a deity. Her gawking expression amused me greatly; I felt a very strong flush of pride. "Boom shakka lakka," I said with a chuckle.

NiGHTS shook herself off, and burst back into her usual boisterous self. "You just SHOT WIZEMAN'S HAND OUT! How did you DO that!"

"I… have absolutely no idea." I frowned slightly, pondering. It had been easy… too easy. A thought dawned on me. "Wait… that was just a hand, right? He probably still has one left..."

"Five out of six," NiGHTS replied stiffly. "Odd that he only used one, now that I consider it."

I shrugged, still feeling quite powerful. "Oh, well, five more to go then. I think I can take him now."

"I'm not so sure I share your mentality there, Narrator…"

There was a clattering sound from behind me; I whirled around to see Wizeman's Hand clattering around, as though being shaken on a string. Suddenly, the Hand flipped back up to its height. The eye (still bearing a prominent hole, I noted) flicked back and forth, and then settled on me. Without a word, the Hand drew backwards, flying out the open door and up the hallway.

"Oh no you DON'T!" I dashed after it, intent on finishing what I started. I took a few running steps and, realizing how pathetically slow my plod was in comparison, decided to kick things up a notch. Amassing a charge of Wind Power in my hands, I cast a great gust of Wind, hurling me up and into the air, through the hall.

I crashed through the door at the top like a meteor, flipped head over heels and crashed down onto my feet. I bounced back up to a full standing stance and looked up, expecting not in the least what I found there. I edged slightly backwards, knowing then the folly of my arrogance.

Wizeman was certainly a most imposing figure—for starters, he was massive. Floating ten feet off of the ground, he stretch up like a great white sheet, perhaps thirty feet up and up. He had no legs, no obvious body—just a great volume of white material that hung like cloth yet shined of silver. A pad of gilt gold hung around his neck, armor perhaps for his nonexistent shoulders. His head was a great iron crown, without split for face or head, from which protruded curved spikes like greatswords. Floating at his sides, where perhaps his arms would have been if he possessed any, six great hands levitated, swaying idly about as though awaiting instruction. Among their number was the one I had wounded; it floated limply near the ground, its eye the gaze of a dead man. Its fellows possessed a leering glare, an icy stare that spoke of the terrible fates of those who dared rouse the wrath of their possessor.

Wizeman's voice was louder here, much more pronounced, and I could not tell if it was his restless Hands or his soulless head that produced the sound. "_Bow before me and beg my mercy, mortal, and perhaps I shall be moved to pity your insignificance._"

My face drew to a scowl; I was more than a little incensed by his request. "The Lord of All Evils knows nothing of pity or mercy, only hatred."

I expected the nightmare-lord to explode—to rage, to seethe, to express his power and anger in fire and darkness. After all, his ego couldn't have fit in a football stadium without some trouble, so presumably his wrath would be intense.

Wizeman started with a murmur, and progressed through to a chuckle. The Lord of All Evils began to laugh. I found his dark cackling incredibly unsettling—I searched my surroundings, wondering if I had sold myself to a trap with my foolish words. My paranoia had only begun, and was not in the least diminished as he spoke again.

"_You are as blind as you are ignorant, Creator. You do not understand what this place is. You have devoured a lie…" _He chuckled again, a murmur that seemed to shake the saints in their stained-glass sepulchers. "_A lie created to shelter a weakness… a lie you fed to yourself, one small morsel at a time…"_

I responded with thinly-veiled fear, and with a return I myself did not wholly believe. "I understand this place. I _made_ this place. It is my world—my Dream Realm." I attempted to point an accusing finger, but the motion died into a brief motion of my arm. "You exist here because… because I need someone to compete with…"

"_Do you? Can you believe your own words…_"

A motion of wind brewed from behind me; I turned about to receive a handful of claws to the face. I yelped and staggered backwards; my glasses clattered to the ground somewhere far away. I could see just well enough to see Reala's crooked smile, and the cruel glitter in his glossy eyes. The fiend swung at me again; I retaliated, cleaving at him with Hand of God's backplate. The weapon's heavy stock deflected his swing, knocking his arm aside; using my opposite hand, I hurled a ball of glowering light in his direction.

Reala suddenly pulled a great, silvery object up from behind him, deflecting the blast off its shined surface. He angled the shield—the Mirror Shield, I quickly realized—in my direction. He was trying to use it against me. Had it not already been broken? Indeed, its surface was splintered, and through the cracks little but a broken image could be discerned.

As much as I would have enjoyed quarreling with the Nightmaren, I was rather busy taking care of his master. For a change of pace, rather than dealing with him, I dealt with his environment; I hopped sideways and struck the foot of a nearby pew; the long wooden bench splintered, breaking off its mounts with a terrible crack, and flipped over, crashing down onto Reala. The Maren balked but was nonetheless buried beneath the large bench. The pew rose from the ground as Reala struggled to lift it up and away. It was not up more than two feet when several more plus a small table nearby crashed down on top of it. Borne to the ground by a heap of wood, the pew collapsed and lay flat, moving no more. I lifted my glasses up from the ground and straightened the frame out, replacing them calmly on my face.

I turned back towards Wizeman, grimly smiling. "Petty toys, your minions. What powers have they over me? I am a Creator—my powers know nothing of limits!"

"_Your powers have limits…_" Wizeman's five remaining Hands stretched outwards, floating out over me, and began to circle, staring icily. "_You know should know much of limits… much of weakness, of failings…_"

I watched his Hands, pivoting in place, returning their accusing gazes as best I could. "And? So if I do? There is no such thing as infinite power. Gods do not exist, only men who imitate them…"

Wizeman cackled again. "_There you are wrong… for I, not you, know VERY MUCH of GODS!_"

The room around me began to darken. I yelped and tried to use my powers to stop the effect, madly casting spells of light, but the darkness consumed my radiance. Augmented by the shadows, the cathedral's form twisted. Its heavy ceiling soared, its glass windows peaked, and the stone ran dark and deep, as though with blood. What little light remained reddened and stagnated, stifled by the austere depth of the ominous church. In the gloom, Wizeman glowered as a lantern; his light was painful to look upon, and fearsome to behold.

Wizeman's Hands curled into fists and slammed down to the ground, shaking the foundations with their very weight. The sixth Hand, the one that I had wounded, arose from Wizeman's side; spreading open, it gleamed with an evil power, and its eye moved again, renewed. It joined its siblings on the ground, great iron spiders preying upon the floor, feeling out the movements of their prey.

The Hands stood up again; their gaze was venomous. "_You shall know my power, Visitor... you shall see my might, and you shall bow before my majesty!"_

"I will never bow to the likes of you!" I shouted back. "NEVER! I bow to NO ONE!"

"_Then you shall COWER_," Wizeman bellowed back. His Hands closed in on me, fingers curved into bent, grasping claws. "_You shall soon learn your place, at my dark hands…"_

I tried to wind up the Hand of God, to strike at his approaching hands, but to no avail; the weapon seized. My knuckles went white around its handle. I mouthed silent screams, levering with all my might; I felt the mechanism slipping, felt the gears mesh into slick motion…

One of Wizeman's Hands lunged forwards, its enormous fingers closing on the Hand's barrel; with a single jerk, it lurched the weapon clear out of my grasp, pulling me forwards. Wizeman's ethereal appendage closed around the rifle like a vise, straining ever so slightly as the weapon's barrel flexed and bent. With a single burst of white light, the weapon snapped in two; I yelped, leaping backwards in terror. The Hand abandoned the broken gun on the dark floor, and moved forwards towards me. I stepped backwards, running right into the grasp of another Hand. The fingers closed around me; its iron grasp sent icy daggers through my chest. Horrified, I struggled against it, expecting it to clamp down around me.

For whatever reason, the Hand neither tightened nor slackened. Wizeman held me there, his grip unbearably cold, but in no way was I injured. Seconds passed, perhaps minutes; such was my fear, I could not count the time.

There was a ripple in the darkness, like a bolt of lightning splitting a midnight sky. I felt the hand lurch and dissipate; the world around me whirled in many colors. I fell like a stone into a pool of unintelligible consciousness, a surreal place of incomprehensible movement and hue.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter Thirteen: The Growing Abyss

Just as soon as I realized I was in some new place, I stopped falling very suddenly and felt a heavy weight against my chest. I saw glittering stardust everywhere, and as my eyes re-adjusted, NiGHTS' all too familiar, and all too welcome, arm curled around my midsection.

Turning over my shoulder to where I presumed the jester's head was, I murmured, "What the hell did you do, and more importantly how the hell did you do it?"

"Oh, I Paralooped you," the jester replied with a gleeful smile. "Threw you into a pocket dimension and followed you through the gap; simple teleportation trick, you know. Don't usually do it to Visitors, but I figured you wouldn't mind."

"No, I didn't. Thank you for saving my keister, NiGHTS."

"You are very welcome, Narrator."

Order was neatly restored the universe as NiGHTS popped back out from her hellish little pocket dimension and into my dream realm. The jester dropped me a few feet onto the ground, and I caught my balance and stood straight up. Looking around, I did my best to pinpoint exactly where the hell we were before remembering that my typical Nightopia lacked a cohesive center. We were on the roof of some building, Wizeman was nowhere to be seen, and in all honesty I did not care about very much else.

With a heavy sigh, I generated a little plastic computer chair and flopped down onto it, burying my head in my hands. "NiGHTS… why am I not dead right now?"

"Because I saved you?" the jester offered.

"No, not that. He had me in his hand, NiGHTS, in his goddamn _hand_… he was crushing me like a little insect, a little insignificant cockroach. I tried to fight him and he kicked my ass. He grabbed my weapon, my ultimate weapon of supreme and undeniable power, and snapped it like a frikking _twig_." I sighed again, staring at my feet. "I was in his _hand—_he could have killed me in a million different, horrible and creative ways—he could have popped me like a balloon, turned me inside out like a sock, heated me to a million degrees and left me a puddle on the floor." I looked forlornly at NiGHTS, at her starry blue eyes. "Why am I not _dead_ right now?"

The jester smiled sadly. "Because, Narrator… because he realized you were stronger than him."

"That's crap and both of us know it," I replied stiffly. "It's because he's humoring me. Humoring my existence. It's a big game to him, NiGHTS, a big frakking game, and he's got all the cards. Like playing a game against the computer—it has all the tools to make the game impossible, but no, it feels generous enough to give you the illusion of a chance, of some hope."

NiGHTS stared at me for a moment. I found her searching gaze discomforting, but not malignant. There was nothing evil or malicious in her sapphire eyes. In that, I found something to envy. Perhaps that was what I liked about her; she was so pure. The jester could hardly think of anything worse than a child's mischief. She still believed in all those ancient and irrelevant things like hope, faith and love, those things I myself had long since abandoned.

"I wasn't just being encouraging, Narrator."

I blinked, shuffling my train of thought to a sideline. "I'm sorry?"

"I wasn't just encouraging you, Narrator," NiGHTS repeated. "I was telling you the truth. You're _way_ more powerful than Wizeman is. He knows it, I know it, and yet you can't understand it."

I snorted. "Name one thing I can do better than him, short of getting my ass kicked."

"How about Creation?"

"He's the Lord of Nightmares," I countered, frowning. "He makes _exactly_ the right things to scare the everliving crap out of people. Knowing what I've seen from him so far, that's saying a lot."

The jester shook her head. "No, no. Wizeman _makes_ Nightmaren, true, but he doesn't _design_ them. He just copies what's already there. He sees what you're afraid of, sees what scares you the most, and cobbles together a rudimentary imitation of that fear. He can't make what isn't already there."

I looked curiously at her. "You're suggesting that I made Reala, then?"

"No, not entirely, but… but you're afraid of him, right?"

"Yeah, he's definitely a creeper." I paused, smiling faintly. "A very _flat_ creeper right now, though. I'd imagine those church-pews weigh quite a bit, and I hit him with several."

"Now…" NiGHTS looked quizzically up, as though dredging her memory. "I don't entirely remember what Owl said about it, since I was only half-listening at the time—"

I chuckled. "No surprise there…"

The jester smiled grimly, glaring at me. "Uh huh, thank you _very_ much. Anyways, Owl said that Wizeman's power is related to whatever YOU perceive it to be. If you THINK he can flatten you like a ball of clay, then he most certainly will. But if you believe that he can be defeated, then maybe… maybe you still have a fair chance."

I rested my chin on my hands. "Perhaps I do. And perhaps I can walk on water, and hey, why not break open the gates of Hell and raise the dead too?"

"You _can_ do those things, you're a Creator," NiGHTS chided softly.

I rolled my eyes at her misinterpretation of my allusion. "There's an obvious clause involved here, more than likely the one you so haplessly forgot to hear." I stood and turned towards her, crossing my arms. "You can't kill gods, NiGHTS. Not even evil ones."

"Why not?" NiGHTS replied. "Why can't you? You're a little less than a god yourself…"

"Yes, quite a bit less than a god," I stiffly returned. "A moot point, anyways. I am a mortal with a god's powers, whereas our opponent is the full and real deal. You can't kill gods, NiGHTS. Even if I could manage the feat, what good would come of it? He's a load bearer; if I take him out, he'll drag the rest of us down with him, and probably shatter all of reality, waking and sleeping, on the way out. You can't end that which has no beginning, especially if said entity to be ended is sentient!"

I was very suddenly interrupted by something sizeable and spiney latching onto my shoulder. I spun about, expecting to find some foul Maren sinking its teeth into my upper arm, only to perceive a pair of daintily-taloned bird's feet, connected to a pudgy ball of brownish feathers and a form I quickly perceived to be entirely benign.

Owl shifted his weight on my shoulder, inclining slightly to look down at me through his little pince-nez. "My apologies, Narrator, I did not intend to startle you there, _hoo_…"

"No offence taken," I replied with a sociable smile.

The little bird cleared his throat, ruffled his feathers and addressed both NiGHTS and myself. "I happened to hear a few words of your conversation as I slipped in, and would like to suggest, if I may so flatter myself, that as a veritable library of Nightopian history and infrastructure, I may be a significant aide to you, _hoo_."

I nodded. "Yes, there are a few things I would like to ask you." With a flick of my hand, I generated a shepherd's-staff bird perch a few feet away; Owl took the cue and hopped over to it, spanning the distance with a few brief flutters of his wings.

Settling down on his new perch, Owl looked quizzically at me with his little beady eyes. "_Hoo…_How may I assist you?"

"I would like to know exactly what connection Wizeman has to the rest of the Dream Realm," I began, sitting back down in my chair and looking up at the smartly-dressed fowl. "I understand that he is a deity here, a divine force of evil if you will, likely created or provoked by the darkness in the hearts of man and all that cliché rubbish."

Owl blinked, gazing intently at me as though filing a response for my inquiry. Detecting no sudden interruption, I continued speaking. "What I would like to know is, whether or not he is a generative influence here—if the power of Nightopia is somehow created or generated as an inverse of his own evil. Were he to be removed from the equation, through me destroying him or banishing him to another realm, would the Dream Realm fall apart along with him?"

The bird sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Very in-depth questions you ask, Narrator; I suppose I should not expect any more from you, though. I will do my best to clarify, _hoo_."

Owl fluttered his wings. "_Hoo. _Now, your process of thinking here is quite reasonable, but there are a few major details that you seem to have gotten mixed up here. The Dream Realm is not as simply an entity as you presume; it is vast, complex, and very, very old."

"Yeah, just like YOU," NiGHTS interjected gleefully.

"Admittedly, I must admit that I myself am quite ancient, to the point where I am uncertain of my own age. You know, time distortion and all, it's rather hard to figure, but anyways, I do digress. The Dream Realm has existed, in some shape or form, for a VERY long time, far longer than you, I or anyone else, the Lord of the Nightmares included. He did not create this place, and he is certainly NOT its deity, _hoo_."

The fowl ruffled his feathers again. "Wizeman is so enveloped by his own pride that he believes he actually _is_ a god, the creator of Nightopia! Nonsense, of course. I may not know exactly what made the Dream Realm in the first place, but I _do_ know what sustains it—the power of the Ideya brought by Visitors. That is the true and _singular_ source of power in the Dream Realm, _hoo_, not Wizeman."

"Okay, so how does Wizeman manage to maintain a vast empire of Maren, huh?" I asked."

NiGHTS sighed, crossing her arms. "Well, he steals Ideya from Visitors. That's what the Maren do in the first place. A self-sustaining process, if you will."

"And a perverted one, as well," Owl continued. "He has his Nightmaren steal Ideya before the Visitors can complete the journey from the waking world to the Dream Realm. You need Ideya to sustain yourself in the Dream Realm, otherwise, you fall away, into the lands of senseless darkness."

"So, about that…" I looked pensively at the little bird. "I only had one Ideya when I came here. So, how do I stay around?"

NiGHTS nudged my shoulder playfully. "Your Creator Ideya, of course!"

Owl nodded sagely. "As long as you have _some_ dreaming-energy in your body, you can experience Nightopia, to an extent anyways. You will be far more vulnerable to the snares of Wizeman, though, since you don't have their protection. Unfortunately, this is also a reciprocating process; the Lord of the Nightmares hones his weapons against you as you reclaim Ideya, so that you can't simply shake him off without a significant confrontation. In your case, of course, he is willing to take extra measures, since you pose a greater threat to him than any normal Visitor, _hoo_."

"Just my damn luck," I said sardonically. "I understand that part. So, the real question is, can I still crush him if I'm down one Ideya?"

Owl shifted uncomfortably. "_Hoo_… that depends. You do lack a Courage Ideya, which will be an obstacle for you. You seem to have mixed luck fighting off his stronger minions, and, well… there are other, greater concerns."

"Like what?" I asked.

Owl outstretched one of his wings, motioning to my left. "Look over there, Narrator."

I looked to the side and was surprised to see something nearby. It was a small, round object, hovering low to the ground, an ethereal white in color. I was not entirely sure what it was, but it gave me a strongly apprehensive feeling.

NiGHTS stepped backwards in midair, a startled look on her face. "An Awakener? Already?"

I looked towards Owl for an explanation; the brownish bird was gazing at the glowering orb with distaste. "Awakeners, Narrator— they escort all Visitors back to the waking world."

I stared at the Awakener. It wasn't very big, maybe a foot and a half in diameter, and as I stared at it I recognized the distinct form of an old-fashioned alarm clock about it. It raised an ethereal arm and motioned to its face, pointing to the little clock-hands that spotted its surface. I noted a time—6:38.

I frowned. "Oh dear, usually I'm up a fair bit before that, I must be running…" My expression soured. "No. No, wait… it's Saturday morning, not in the week. I _always_ sleep late on Saturdays. Hey, Awakener, buck off—NOBODY gets my fat backside out of bed 'til at LEAST eight on weekends!"

The little clock seemed offended enough by my suggestion, and vanished in a puff of white smoke. I felt quite accomplished, telling off a force of nature and all.

"Wow," NiGHTS said, looking confused. "I didn't know you could make them leave just by _asking…_"

"That's because you haven't been interrupted by any stimulus in the waking world to return," Owl explained, ruffling his feathers. "If you have to leave, they will drag you away screaming if they must. Hopefully no one in the waking world tries to disturb you for a little while longer, so you can finish up your business here."

I sighed. "Okay, okay, so maybe I don't have much time left here. The sun typically wakes me up somewhat early in the morning, so I may not have much time at all. I suppose that means I need to get to work now, huh?"

Owl nodded. "That would be the wisest course, yes. He is present in your Nightopia…" He motioned to the dark cloud in the distance, the location of the accursed cathedral—"And your best chance at finishing him is right now, while he remains within reach."

I nodded, slowly, with hesitation. "I… I will do my utmost." My hand clenched into a fist. "I will protect what is mine. NiGHTS… let's go."

"Dualize with me?" the jester offered, stretching out her hand.

I looked her in the eyes and smiled softly. Already, I was thinking of my plan of action—I had a few tricks to pull that might give me an edge over Wizeman, but I needed something a little more.

"Sure, why the hell not." I took NiGHTS' hand, combined forms with her and went dashing off into the writhing storm of Nightmare.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter Fourteen: Darker Dreams

_The cathedral's interior, dark and bleak, cast with numberless shadows, stood stark and hollow, like a gaping wound from which things unspeakable poured. The lights of Nightopia were all but lost in the depths, in the shadows, in the fathomless pits of the eternal netherworld that was Nightmare. _

_Wizeman stood in solemn silence, frozen in thought, terrible and yet glorious in his towering majesty. His pale reflection hung malnourished from the walls, splattered on the floor like the glossy sheen of a thousand sleepless nights. His unlight was consuming, devouring, ravenous for a light to extinguish. His many Hands circled around, anxious and ready to deliver judgment. The time was at hand for just such a trial._

_The great doors of the cathedral were heavy, barred with the cunning evil only the Lord of Nightmares could claim to possess. They would not hold, though. They did not need to, for Wizeman wished for them to open. The final battle was nigh at hand, and he, the great and terrible dreaming-deity, the patron-saint of all things dark and hideous, was more than ready, more than willing to confront his meager opposition._

_And so the opposition came. An arrow of light it was, lancing the doors like a ram, passing through as though they were nothing more substantial than cloth. The golden lance arced downwards, striking the ground at the far end of the cathedral, astride the nearest row of seats. Still it glowed, an ember upon a cold hearth, burning brightly with the foolish hope of those far beyond their true place of refuge, their proper caste._

_Although small and weak, a mere insect to the power and glory of Wizeman, Narrator was, and as perhaps he imagined, a fair bit greater than that the Dark One assigned him. His appearance was but a mirror of his own virtue, glorious and yet hollow. There was great vulnerability in him, a great many faults, but also strength, the strength only assurance in power could bring. The light of his knowledge, hope, wisdom and purity glowered as a great lantern, driving out in one small area the virulence of Nightmare._

_All of this Wizeman looked upon, and noted, and observed. He was displeased, and felt rather mocked. This mockery of light, a mere candle beside the engrossing blackness of Wizeman, which with a brush of his hands could be put out and extinguished, which so dared to oppose him, to stain his visions of a most perfect darkness. Surely this cretin, this foolish mortal, would learn to stay far from the realms of his gods, to whom his worship was owed? _

_This was not the least among Wizeman's aggravations, though. Beside Narrator was another figure, a small shadow amidst the light, a spot of Wizeman's very own flesh and blood that supported the mockery. The very hue of violet there embodied was a curse in Wizeman's eyes for the folly that was housed there. Had he not raised NiGHTS in the glory of his followers, as one of his generals? Was this how the father was repaid by his offspring, to side with the usurpers, the fools, the ignorant and weak?_

_For all his anger, though, Wizeman was a gentle god, and a forgiving one. He would forgive the transgressions of NiGHTS, indeed, as any father would his son or daughter. But for the usurper, this so-called 'Narrator', there would be little of forgiveness, and indeed little of mercy. Already Wizeman had considered in which terrors the little Visitor would be drowned._

_Narrator spoke, in a voice of finely tempered silver, which to Wizeman seemed a brittle, projected tone, a cover for something far less fine. "I have come, Lord of All Evils." _

_Atop their lofty perches in the air, Wizeman's Hands stared down accusingly, many silent reprimands in their motions. The Lord of the Nightmares shook the building with his great and terrible voice. _"And indeed, your stay shall be eternal and forever, lost in my darkness."

_Far beneath on the ground, the insolence of Narrator spoke in a voice crackling with threats not wholly delivered. "I shall not propose your immediate exit a second time, Wizeman."_

_Wizeman's eyes neither blinked nor twitched. Nothing could shake his overbearing might, which hung suspended as a great weight over the entire room, to be triggered by one and one alone to singular, solemn judgment. _"And indeed, you shall not."

_The restraints slipped. Wizeman's Hands lurched and tumbled, hurtling through the air across the length of the cathedral, and all crashing in a dreadful synchrony of sound, driving up great plumes of debris and pulverized dust as they impacted the area where Narrator had so insolently stood. _

_The cathedral's foundations lurched as a wave of energy punched through the heaps of shattered wood and stone, hurling Wizeman's Hands and several of the cathedral's remaining seats skywards, smashing the walls with rubble and splintering the plastered ceilings. At the explosion's center, Narrator stood up from the rubble; he was wrapped in a great white mantle, a shroud echoing with ancient powers long since forgotten. He parted his arms, and the fabric spread, seated upon his shoulders like a coat of mail. _

_A sly smile was upon his face; his intolerable audacity spoke once again. "Stop hitting yourself."_

_Great winds buffeted the inside of the cathedral; just as Wizeman's Hands arose, they were taken by the gusts. Blown back across the hall, the Hands crashed against Wizeman's body, bouncing off and crashing down to the ground, where they lay in a pile._

_The Hands of Wizeman recovered quickly their wounds, and arose once again to the side of their master, whose voice shook the panes of the stained-glass windows. _"Do not toy with things you cannot possibly imagine, so-called Narrator…"

"_Make me, Lord of All Evils," the impudent pest responded. "If you CAN."_

_The Eyes of Wizeman glowered, as his wrath was stirred. _"Your ignorance is abhorrent to me… my judgment shall not be reserved upon you…"

_The Hands of Wizeman circled around, and dark energies gathered amongst them. Narrator watched them, tense, preparing to counter the attack. He was all too easily fooled. One of the six Hands slipped away into the shadows, and emerged directly behind the hateful Visitor. Narrator did not notice until it was far too late; the Hand swallowed him in its massive grip. The wrath of Wizeman fell upon him, and the Hand clamped down, clenching like a vise. The Visitor's agonized screams brought the dreaming-god enormous satisfaction; his eyes watched in glee, savoring the marvelous sight of his victory._

_There was a violet flash around the attacking Hand; a burst of energy cracked the goliath appendage across the fingers, causing it to convulse and release, dropping Narrator to a heap in the ground. Once again the wrath of Wizeman was aroused. _"NiGHTS… do not get in the way of your Master!"

_With a single fell swing, the Hand snatched the violet jester up. The little Visitor below protested loudly, and even endeavored to throw a few little flashes of energy at it, but to no avail, for the Hand vanished, taking NiGHTS along with it. Wizeman reasoned that five Hands would be more than sufficient to deal with the little Visitor, minus the traitorous Maren._

_Narrator looked wide-eyed at the spot the Hand had previously occupied. He whirled around, facing Wizeman. "What have you done with her?"_

_The fear of Narrator pleased the Lord of the Nightmares immensely, and his tone was twisted with evil joy. _"Nothing, yet. I will endeavor to repair NiGHTS once I have dealt away with you, for I cannot partake of the happiness of new creation while I still deal with such arrogance as yourself."

_Wizeman's eyes watched hungrily as Narrator curled himself into his mantle, his radiant aura fading as his fears turned inwards. "You're… going to unmake her…" _

"It was very kind of you to deliver NiGHTS to me, of course," _Wizeman continued, savoring the moment, for it was not often that he could cause such wonderful torment to his underlings. _"That will not save you from my wrath, for your lack of piety must be punished, and thoroughly, but it was certainly a welcome gesture…"

_The aura of Narrator died away; now only the faint light of his long cloak could be established, and even that the shadows bit at, ravenous to finish their meal. His head was bowed now; was he crying? Wizeman laughed, coldly into the darkness. The despair of Narrator pleased him tremendously. _

_Suddenly, the darkness of Nightmare began to redden; the lights re-emerged from Narrator. The Visitor knuckled his eyes, replaced his spectacles, and glared up at Wizeman, his eyes now indignant. He pushed back his heavy mantle, and raised his arm, clenched into a fist. _

_The insolent Visitor cursed Wizeman, cursed his superior and all-powerful god, and cursed all of his kingdoms, with oaths great and terrible. He continued, spouting comments that no creature of Wizeman would ever dare to utter, even in jest. "You are not my master, Wizeman. This is MY Nightopia, MY world—I am its god. My every singular wish is within my power—and I WISH YOU DEAD!"_

_Now, the real power of Narrator was extended. The cathedral began to rumble and shake. Portions of the ceiling began to fall, the columns buckled and cracked, and the walls splintered. Stained-glass windows fractured, showering the floor with bright glitters of shrapnel. The braces of the roof bent beneath the strain, and with a growing howl of breaking materials the great cathedral buckled and broke beneath its own weight._

_Wizeman's Hands moved, as though to act, but it was too late. With a single great crackle, the roof above him gave way as the cathedral's enormous belltower came crashing down upon itself, plowing down a thousand tons of stone and iron upon the Lord of the Nightmares. Half the cathedral's roof came down along with it as the enormous building imploded, opening up to the blood-red skies of Nightmare above and the churn of crumbling wood and stone._


	44. Chapter 44

Narrator's Tale, Part IV

Chapter One: The Death of Ideya

The cathedral now bore the countenance of a war victim, roofless and shattered, a skeleton of what it once was. Perhaps I should have mourned the loss of such a great piece of architecture, the destruction of something so finely honed, but at the moment, I was not of a great mood to admire the labor of thousands. I saw a building gutted, and was only upset that it was not more thoroughly destroyed. I had never liked the big church in the first place, and now that I was royally pissed off, I liked it even less.

I looked with grim satisfaction upon the mound of debris where Wizeman had formerly stood. My breathing was labored from the effort, but it was not for naught. Somewhere beneath those million pounds of debris was Wizeman, that glorious bastard. I hoped that if he wasn't dead, he was suffering greatly, and regretted his unwise words.

There was a light flutter of wings from behind me. "Narrator!"

I spun around one hundred and eighty degrees and thundered a reply. "WHAT?"

Owl twitched uncomfortably, giving me a forlorn and surprised look. I glanced to the side, feeling a bit ashamed for snapping at him, but continued nonetheless. "Yes, Owl?"

The little bird was perched on a large pillar of broken wood that happened to be both nearby and about chest level with me, so he could look me straight in the face. "Dear me, Narrator! Are you alright?"

I held up my arms, looking over my hands, and said with a twinge of irritance, "Hmm, looks like I still have all ten fingers, so I suppose that I am."

I looked over my shoulder, towards the massive heap of rubble, from which the top half of a clock tower still protruded, thrust upwards at a slight angle from perpendicular. "You should ask_ him_, though. That's what matters. He's _done_."

Owl looked cautiously at the enormous pile. "I would not be so sure about that. We are not yet out of Nightmare, and moreover, his presence is still very strong here."

I looked up towards the sky; indeed, it burned with the broody, crimson clouds of Nightmare. "Hmm. So that would mean…?"

I looked back towards the mountain of rubble; it did not stir. "Come on. You can't be telling me that he isn't dead in there? If he was still alive, wouldn't he burst out through the top and start blabbing about his indomitable power?"

"Wizeman is not made from such simple, physical materials as we are," Owl said flatly. "He could have teleported, or quite simply abandoned his physical form. He has enough power to shape himself a new one, if he so desires."

I nodded. "I suppose I did not consider that, but it makes sense. So where could he be? Didn't he want to finish me off, before…" I paused and blinked. "NiGHTS. Where is NiGHTS?"

I looked expectantly at Owl, who shifted uncomfortably again. "I do not know where she is," he admitted. "I expected to find her with you."

"Wizeman took her," I said, frowning.

Owl bristled. "What? Wizeman captured NiGHTS? Do you know what he intends to do with her?"

"Yes, yes, he told me," I said crossly. "But he said he wanted to finish me off first."

"Wizeman is more than capable of lying, Narrator."

I could feel my heart beginning to race as alarm sirens started clattering in my mind. "I've got to go save her! Where the hell would Wizeman have taken her?"

"To his fortress, I would imagine, but you must-"

The bird startled and took off into the air as I began to walk away, gathering Power for a Jump. "Narrator, you mustn't be so hasty, I have a few more things to tell you!"

"I have no time!" I replied stiffly. "Every second I waste talking with you is one second less I have to save NiGHTS!"

I opened the portal behind me; I knew not exactly where it would land me, but I trusted it would be close enough for me to determine upon arrival.

Owl fluttered towards me, sputtering words. "You can't just barge into Wizeman's hall, you—"

I heard very little else of what he said, as the world fell away all around me. I slipped through the portal and out the other side, into the maelstrom of undecided fate.

The portal poured out into what I presumed immediately was Wizeman's very posh throne room. The complete lack of a floor was the first fanciful touch that I noticed; before I had fallen more than a few feet down, I threw out my great cloak, and generated a big slab of floating stone to stand upon. With my feet now securely upon a solid surface, I curled up in my great mantle, and glanced around at the walls of the room. They were misty and dark, hardly there at all, like portions of a dream not entirely remembered upon re-emergence.

Something emitted a soft noise from behind me. I turned about to find an Awakener hovering in midair, its clock-face ticking away the seconds.

"Five minutes more," I requested. "I'm almost done here."

The clock nodded, and vanished into the air. Finished with the disturbing little personification, I searched again the perimeter of the room. Finding nothing, I was somewhat unnerved.

Suddenly, the stone slab began to quake. A great spire of black rock shot up from the abyss about thirty feet ahead of me, thrusting upwards like a granite shadow. It brought with it the face of a great clock, and a massive tower that bore it. As it rose up and to the extents of my vision, I suddenly recognized that I had seen its like before. The accursed cathedral was reforming, larger than ever, right here and right now!

The roof closed overhead, sealing out all hopes of exit, and the walls of cold stone were spotted with the solemn visages of ancient saints long since forgotten, and better left so. The floor was tiled in dark stones, mortared with a hue too reminiscent of dried blood for comfort. The pews were of stone, and the altar was iron, great and imposing with a good twenty feet in height, and yet dwarfed by the ceiling a thousand feet overhead. I drew my shroud tightly around me, as though in fear, but I displayed none in my face, coldly blanked and pressed heavily with grievances unaddressed.

I broke the austerity with my voice, loud and thundering, twisted and terrible in my anger. "SHOW YOURSELF, LORD OF ALL EVILS, CRAVEN WRETCH OF THE DARKNESS!"

Only silence answered my call; the high ceiling devoured the sound of my voice, and not even a faint echo returned. Unnerved, I steeled myself for an offensive. I built up a ball of Power in my right hand, and prepared to launch it at the first thing that moved.

The first flicker of light in front of me triggered my response; Wizeman's Hand screeched, its surface studded with a swarm of glowering spikes. The hand toppled over and crashed to the ground, borne down by the weight of the projectiles. Another flash rippled behind me; I whirled around, summoning another group of heavy spines from midair.

Owl squawked loudly, crossing his wings in front of his face. I froze in place, staying the swarm a few feet from where they had moved. I had not enough time to dispose of them, however, as another great Hand emerged nearby, only to be shredded by my fearsome barrage and tossed away in a heap, crushing a few of the stone benches.

The sage little bird fluttered over to a pew nearby, a look of strong concern etched on his face. "Narrator! You can't just be running off like this, it's unsafe!"

I turned around briefly to hurl another volley of shrapnel at one of the Hands, which had risen back into the air. "Yeah, I can SEE that, Owl!"

The other Hand shook off its injuries and came back towards me; irritated by its continued assault, I blasted it with a gust of wind, hurling it across the length of the cathedral. "Can you tell where NiGHTS is?"

The bird shook his head fiercely. "Not at all, Wizeman's influence is too strong here. You're not listening to me, though—you are endangering yourself by doing this!"

I cursed under my breath. "Where the hell could he have taken her?" I trod swiftly down the center aisle of the cathedral, looking around for any possible place where she could have been hidden. I saw one of the Hands move nearby, and tore down one of the cathedral's support columns, sending it crashing down upon it.

Owl's hurried wingbeats resounded from over my shoulder; the little fowl could fly quite fast when he needed to. "Narrator! I must stress my point, you are in great danger here, especially when you're in this sort of mood! You're feeding hi—"

I turned sharply over my shoulder and barked a reply. "I don't have ANY time to be dealing with this! NiGHTS is in danger, and I have to get her before Wizeman finishes destroying her! I'm burning goddamned nighttime here!"

I stepped forwards and prepared a portal, to speed my passage through the cathedral, but was interrupted by Owl reaching forwards and hooking the collar of my heavy cloak with his claws. I jerked forwards about an inch, my loud expletive half-strangled by the constriction of my throat. I spun back around, to face the owl. "WHAT THE HELL?"

"Listen to me, Narrator!" Owl protested in a surprisingly commanding voice. "You're very upset, I understand that, but you're not doing yourself any favors by throwing a fit!"

I crossed my arms, drawing my cloak around me. "Okay, okay, so you're telling me to calm down and stop bitching now? Pretty godddamn easy to say, isn't it?"

My hand flickered a brilliant crimson with Power; I swiveled, turning to face one of Wizeman's Hands (there were three of them now, all floating in my direction). With a mighty sweep of my arm, I threw an iron spike through one of them. I clenched my fist; more spikes extended from the middle one, encircling the hand and biting into it. The Hand shrieked wonderfully, and pressing my advantage, I increased the production of-

"_NARRATOR_!"

My concentration shattered as the hellish tone echoed in my ears. Shuddering slightly, I curled protectively into my mantle, staring at Owl as though he were possessed.

The bird flapped his wings furiously as he spoke in a scathing tone. "Look at what you are doing, Narrator! You can't just walk in and smash your way through to NiGHTS, it won't be that simple! THINK about it, for heaven's sake!"

I looked over at the Hand I had just demolished and was dismayed to see it reforming, not looking a single bit the worse for it all. "They just don't stay down…"

"Never mind the Hands, Narrator—you're wearing a magical mantle of protection, are you not?"

I nodded. "True. I suppose they shouldn't be able to harm me then."

"Indeed, they will not, not while their master is not here. Narrator, what I have been trying to tell you for the past two minutes is this. Just as Ideya can be strengthened with use, as your Creator Ideya has been, they can also be destroyed through misuse. Every time you strike with anger, you weaken your Purity Ideya, and every time you despair, you weaken your Hope Ideya. It IS possible to destroy Ideya, Narrator, and it isn't nearly as difficult as you might think."

I blinked. "So let me get this straight… Wizeman WANTS me to be pissed off, because I'm destroying my own Ideya? Wouldn't he want them for himself?"

Owl shook his head. "Not entirely. Most Ideya are worthless to Wizeman—being a creature of darkness, he can't really use them much anyways. Depriving you of Ideya is good for him, because he can twist you to his means. If you use anger and hate, you are acting as Wizeman himself does- and trust me when I say that he knows all about that kind of mindset."

I frowned. "Okay, I get that now. Makes sense, I guess, but kinda sucks."

There was a rumble like thunder, far above me. I looked around with anticipation as the rumble continued, the dire laughter of Wizeman. "Okay… now THAT concerns me. If he's happy, I'm not."

There was a flicker of shadows, and the Lord of the Nightmares emerged, terrible in his darkness.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter Sixteen: Darkest Nights

I clenched a fist, addressing Wizeman with a chastising tone. "I see you've gotten yourself out from under the wreckage, you monument to intolerable shadows!"

Wizeman's Hands circled around, his eyes murmuring silent accusations. "_Even in the throes of defeat, you speak with arrogance... but now, it is not simply yourself you condemn with your foolish words…"_

The Lord of the Nightmares moved to the side, his hands beckoning to the front of the church. I saw the candles lit with ethereal flames, the tapestries in darkly crimson hues, the altar tall and black. The altar emitted a low rumble as it turned about. I leaned forwards in surprise and horror. NiGHTS' violet form lay slack against the back of the altar, her head bowed and unmoving, bound hand and foot to the dark iron.

I stepped forwards, to run to the altar, but Wizeman moved back, blocking my view of her. "_Do not worry, Narrator—as my mercy has deigned, NiGHTS lives yet."_

I gritted my teeth, stifling my rejection of his statement. "You… what do you want of me, you glorious bastard?"

"_I only wish to make you an offer, Visitor,"_ Wizeman rumbled from on high. "_An offering of my power…_"

A high-pitched dinging resounded on both of my sides; I looked about, to see a pair of Awakeners, one left and one right. They looked quite urgent, and hopped around in the air, maneuvering towards me.

"_See now, Narrator—your time is at hand._" Wizeman's eyes were bleak and solemn, difficult to read. "_The Awakeners wish to spirit you away, back to your own world…_"

I watched the creatures cautiously. "I won't need much longer," I murmured to them. The Awakeners did not seem to heed my comment; they seemed quite interested in getting uncomfortably close, as though waiting for a signal.

"_You shall soon leave the Dream Realm, and with it your powers," _Wizeman continued.

I gave him a curious look. "Yes? I am aware of that. I will dream again, though—I will return."

Wizeman sighed earthly, sympathetically it seemed. "_Few among Visitors are those who return… for by the summons of the Waking World, much is left behind and forgotten…"_

I looked at Wizeman, at the Awakeners, and back at Wizeman. I considered his thoughts with a frown. "Forget? How could I forget about this?"

"_Indeed,_" Wizeman replied. "_A great pity. Such wondrous power and talents, all to waste… for humans are weak in mind and spirit, and memories are quickly passed by them…"_

The Awakeners hopped up into the air and levitated towards me, extending their little arms menacingly. I shied away from the creatures, and they suddenly dove in my direction.

A great concussive force knocked me from my feet, and a cloud of black dust filled my view. I sat back up, beating away at the air, and looked about. I saw right in front of me one of Wizeman's hands. Crushed beneath the Hand's mighty fingers, one of the Awakeners clawed at the floor, its face cracked and buckled. After a moment, it slumped down and moved no more.

"_Your sacrifice, the death of your memory… is not beyond my power to remedy."_

I looked up at Wizeman, towering above me in his godly might. "What are you suggesting here?"

The Hand that lay before me arose, its eye affixing with a searching gaze. "_Your night need not end, Narrator… for with my assistance, you may stay for many moons…"_

I blinked. The offer sounded entirely fishy to me. "Your offer is intriguing to me, but I do not trust you. How do I know that you will not betray me?"

Wizeman's eye did not blink nor waver; my statement, it seemed, did not surprise him in the least. "_Very well then. I shall offer you a token of my good will…"_

There was a loud noise from the front of the cathedral; a moment later, another of Wizeman's Hands appeared, clutching the massive black altar, to which NiGHTS was still pinned, in its dark fingers. Wizeman set the altar down next to me.

I moved towards my companion and popped her restraints with a flick of my hand. The violet jester toppled out, and I caught her in my arms. "NiGHTS? NiGHTS! Are you alright?"

NiGHTS emitted a muffled sound and moved slightly. I pressed her with a pulse of Power, which seemed to revive her. The jester lifted her head up and looked sleepily towards me. "Hello, Narrator," she said with a haphazard smile. "Looks like you're carrying _me_ around for a change…"

I smiled gently, and tipped the jester back up onto her feet; she promptly remounted the air. "My pleasure, NiGHTS."

With that matter dealt with, I turned towards Wizeman. "What exactly are you offering here, Wizeman?"

Wizeman's eyes were ever unblinking. "_I offer you an unearthly paradise… an eternity in Nightopia. I will seal you into the Dream Realm, and you shall never be forced to leave this place._"

"An eternity in Nightopia…" I looked vacantly into the distance. "I could never go back home… I could stay here, God of my own Heaven, and reign supreme, for all time…"

NiGHTS nudged me hesitantly; I turned towards her, returning her concerned look with a smile. "I could spent a thousand years together with you, NiGHTS… yes, that would certainly be a paradise for us, would it not?"

NiGHTS opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted her. "Narrator the Dreaming-Lord, and NiGHTS his empress, and the throne of supreme power..."

The jester seemed quite distracted by my comment; she giggled, blushing as though flattered. With NiGHTS put aside, I looked back at Wizeman. "Is that within your powers?"

"_Nothing is beyond the scope of my strength,_" Wizeman replied, sounding quite full of himself. "_Of course, for such a great favor—the gift of one of my finest generals AND the keys to paradise… an exchange would be necessary._"

I narrowed my eyes. "I think I see where this is going, Wizeguy. No, I'm not giving up my Creator Ideya. I will live as a Creator, or I will die as one."

"_I do not want your Creator Ideya," _Wizeman retorted. "_It is meaningless to me—I have no use of its power. Your other Ideya, though… those I must use in sealing you away... not an unfair exchange, one might think..._"

I frowned. I did not like the idea of surrendering the Ideya I had worked so hard to recover, as well as the single one of the stones Wizeman still retained, but I considered my options. Ideya did not define my personality—I was much the same person with as without, was I not? My Creator Ideya compensated for those that I lacked. Surely then, with only one Ideya I would be just the same? But still I was troubled… much work had gone into recovering the Ideya I possessed…

"I... I am unsure," I said nervously. "I don't know. Will you leave if I agree to this?"

"_Such was my plan,_" Wizeman explained. "_Surrender to me your other Ideya, and I shall seal you within your own little heaven. Your powers you will retain, so that you can make whatsoever you wish, so what would you have to miss?_"

Deep in thought, I stared listlessly at the floor. It sounded good—VERY good, in fact, the best deal I'd ever heard of in my entire life—but something was not right. "I need to think about this…"

"_Take your time,"_ Wizeman mused. "_I have all night._"

NiGHTS interrupted my line of thought by shaking my shoulder. "Are you seriously considering taking Wizeman's offer, Narrator?"

"Yes, yes I am," I said crossly, giving the jester a perplexed look. "It sounds pretty frikkin' great to me. An upgrade to full-time deity in exchange for a few things I've only had for a few hours? Come on!"

"You will not be the same without your Ideya," NiGHTS warned. "Not _nearly_. You will always be missing something inside if you give them away. Your Creator Ideya will keep you alive and physically whole, but it will not make you happy."

"Perhaps it will not." I grasped the jester's shoulders; she suddenly donned an expression of shock, surprised at my sudden boisterousness. "But _you'll _be there. My empress, NiGHTS. Do I need anything else?"

NiGHTS stared blankly at me. "I… I understand that, Narrator. Perhaps you will be content in your little heaven. But _I_ will not be."

"Why not?" I demanded.

The jester smiled sadly, closing her eyes. "I'm a wanderer by nature. Being pinned to one place, regardless how nice it is, would be a sentence to me."

I blinked, adopting a look of flat displeasure. "I can create new places to explore," I said coolly. "I can create new worlds, new plains of existence. What meaning have boundaries to me, lord of my kingdom!"

My words seemed to stifle her; NiGHTS took on a pensive look and said nothing more, sinking into thought. The soft flutter of Owl's wings nearby attracted my attention. The little bird perched upon a railing nearby, a look of concern etched into his face. "What is this? Narrator, are you taking counsel with the Lord of the Nightmares?"

I motioned over my shoulder. "Spikehead here says he can seal me into Nightopia permanently, at the expense of a few of my Ideya. It sounds like a pretty decent deal for both of us—he doesn't have to waste time and effort fighting me, and I get to spend the rest of eternity as an emperor of the Dream Realm."

NiGHTS cleared her throat and nudged me with her foot. "Oh, and I get to keep NiGHTS, as well," I added.

"Wizeman's deals are seldom so simple," Owl said gravely. "I beg you reconsider—there are things you are missing here."

"Like what? I'm sorry, did I miss the part about being crowned "god"?" I retorted crossly.

Owl shook his head. "You are mistaken, Narrator. You are not a creature of the Dream Realm, and you would not do so well to stay here too long."

"Umm, yeah, I'm a deity, what part of my "supreme power" does not allow that?"

The bird gave me a harsh look, silencing me. "You do not understand how this place works. Nightopia is not self-sustaining—it draws its power from the Waking World, and exhausts itself in giving you a physical form. Your presence here drains a lot of energy from this place. If you stay for a long time, especially without all of your Ideya, you will eventually burn out Nightopia's capacities and your night shall end, with no morning to meet you in the world of the Waking."

I frowned. "That does sound serious. I'm sure I can come up with a way to counteract that, right?"

"Nightopia is not your home, and it cannot be anything more than a place of retreat," Owl explained. "The Waking World is where you truly belong. Indeed, as I speak to you, your true body resides empty in the Waking World, and it will not be long before it languishes in your absence. If you seal yourself into this place, you shall never return to that form."

"Wait a minute…" A feeling of sickening anxiety came over me. "I hadn't considered that. I suppose it makes sense… if my soul remains here, then the rest of me would go into a coma, maybe even die. While I was here having a good time for myself, everyone back home—my parents, my siblings, my grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, friends and associates—would be mourning my passing."

Owl nodded sadly. "That is how it is, indeed. Is that what you want?"

I closed my eyes for a moment. The choice was difficult—stay here and die for myself, or leave and live for the rest of the world. I would not have a second chance at this opportunity…

No.

Reopening my eyes, I turned towards Wizeman, might in his terrible glory. "No. That would be treason—I would be trading my real life for a hollow dream. I could never be happy knowing that my friends and family suffer on my behalf. Your promises are perjury—nothing is ever as simple as you say!"

Wizeman's Hands rose back up into the air, hanging by his sides and harboring seething gazes. "_I have made my offer—none can say that I am not generous. You have said you shall live or die a Creator… and indeed you shall perish among my darkness…_"

I narrowed my eyes, watching Wizeman's Hands circle, preparing a magical spell. A soft threat escaped my lips. "And in my great light… you shall drown."

Just as Wizeman discharged his evil magics, I countered with my own. His great swathe of crimson shadow met and was stymied; the lance of my light pierced his blow, splitting it asunder and dissipating it to nothingness. One of his Hands appeared behind me, and fell upon me as though to crush me beneath its bulk; I spun about and cast a pillar of light, and the Hand was impaled by its own momentum.

The great Hand closed into a fist, crushing the spear of light, and crashed down about me. I leapt backwards ten feet, narrowly avoiding its crushing mass.

"Hey!" Hearing NiGHTS' voice, I turned swiftly aside. "Narrator!" The jester outstretched her hand, offering her single service. Smiling, I accepted. We Dualized, and together we faced the menace of Wizeman.

NiGHTS emitted a sigh. _It's too confined in here, _she noted, forcing me into a dizzying maneuver to avoid a lateral swing from one of Wizeman's ethereal appendages. _We can't maneuver very well…_

Nevertheless, we pushed towards Wizeman. I asked NiGHTS how exactly she intended to go about hurting the big guy; she giggled softly and admitted that she had absolutely no clue. I suggested aiming for his big chandelier-sized head, and the jester agreed with me.

Wizeman flung waves of energy at us, which we had to either evade or kick through the center of, and he also threw his Hands about, smashing the walls and ceiling in an effort to strike us. These were much more difficult, and we got clipped once or twice, narrowly evading serious injury. I did not start to seriously worry until two Hands came at us at once, from two separate directions, while a column of energy demanded our attention directly ahead.

Excusing myself from NiGHTS, I pulled a quick stunt; un-Dualizing, I spread out my arms and tossed two walls of silver swords around me, slashing up both Hands moments before they made contact with us.

NiGHTS let out a piercing shriek as I suddenly realized the stupidity of my split-second decision. Wizeman had successfully managed to separate us out, and had immediately focused his efforts on NiGHTS. One of his Hands morphed shape, transforming into a great javelin, the end of which now protruded a foot and a half out of NiGHTS' back. The jester murmured a few senseless words and plummeted like a stone, to the stone floor thirty feet below.

In a flash, I was with her; standing on the ground, I caught her as she fell. I reached to shatter the javelin but it shot back out of NiGHTS, transformed back into a Hand and sped away as I hurled a fistful of fiery blades in its direction.

Abandoning interest in the battle, I lifted NiGHTS up from the ground. "NiGHTS! Are you with me?"

The jester murmured something, her eyes fluttering half-open, and she slumped backwards in my grasp. I reached out my hand to heal her, but it looked grim; the javelin had torn a massive hole through her body, and her blood (the darkish essence all Maren survived through) poured out onto the floor. I began to close the wound, but it was too much, too quickly—I could not convince myself I could really repair it. I laid her down and tried my best Lucian Healer imitation, sewing and weaving restorative Power all around me.

One of Wizeman's Hands hung in midair nearby, its gaze sharp and knifing. "_Not so strong without your little friend, are you…"_

I turned towards the Hand, despair clawing at my insides, but also strength, the need to go on, and continue the battle. "I do not need NiGHTS to destroy you… her absence only proves my most substantial truth…"

Wizeman's Hands closed all around me, circling around ominously. "_This is the end, so-called Narrator… your story will end in this place, at my hands."_

I flicked my hand; NiGHTS' body began to regenerate itself, and to reclaim its lost fluids from the floor. With this done, I stood. "I cannot defeat you, Wizeman… but I can make someone who can."

I put forth my hand; Power glowed from my fingertips, verdant and awesome. I bowed my head, closing my eyes, and pictured what I wanted. What I needed, to win, to conquer, to ensure my survival and the growth of my inner existence. I made something new, something not even I had ever thought of before—not those who inhabited the Terrene, nor those who conquered it, but those who _created_ it, those who passed it on to the ancestors of mankind, for its safekeeping…

In that moment, in that dark hour, I created a new chapter in my worlds—from everything I had seen, and known, and loved in Nightopia. That which I desperately wished to make mine… and in that very moment, it was made so.


	46. Chapter 46 Fin

Chapter Seventeen: Birth of the Framers

My eyes snapped open of their own accord. The great window above the altar, at the very far end of the cathedral, shown with a phantasmal light; white and gold poured in through its reddened panels, overwhelming its consuming darkness. Glass and lead submitted to the will of a mortal mind within an immortal body, and the shadows were driven back as the front wall was torn asunder, sending stone and iron into an abyss of wind-torn smoke, to smite the shadows that had birthed them. A single form, small and yet powerful beyond power, bounced from the column of light, and like a bolt of lightning thrust across the length of the church. Wizeman's hands parted from its path, startled by its sudden appearance, its brilliant majesty.

Feet gilt in Everstone graced the stone floor in front of me. Legs long and spindly supported a narrow, tone body clad all in gleaming gold, with slender arms leading to fine gauntlets shrouding delicate hands. Atop narrow shoulders sat a great Everstone helm, crested with a plume of many colors, cut in smooth, ceremonial curves far too perfect and beautiful for any human array.

I spread out my arms; the warrior did the same. Liquid Everstone danced in his hands as a pair of swords took shape, one in each hand. The swords were long and narrow, perhaps an inch wide at the hilt with an even taper out to the edges; like Silver Crescent's weapon of preference, but lighter, finer. These were proper dueling rapiers, complete with the cupped guards to shelter the hands of their wielder. Two matching scabbards materialized at his sides, sewn from dark fabric and inlaid with Everstone, jutting out like the edges of a coat from his waist.

I lowered my arms, and the golden-clad Ward did the same. I smiled, pleased by the appearance of my newest creation.

Wizeman spoke with a thunderous growl, moving his Hands into "_Your pitiful toys do not dissuade me, Narrator!_"

A Hand came down upon the Ward, as though to crush him into the stones beneath. There was a flash of gold as the Ward swiveled about and thrust out both of his swords. The Hand slammed down upon them; the two blades pierced clear through its back. The Ward spread his arms apart; the Everstone blades cleaved the Hand neatly in twain. He spun in place and drove up a Power Cutter from the blades of his swords, driving the Hand aside with a wave of Power-infused energy.

Standing at the ready, the Ward turned towards me. I saw his face, and it was already familiar. He had NiGHTS' head, her alien complexion and great gleaming eyes… or did he? No, indeed, there were differences, changes—his eyes were more triangular in shape, and bright with the light of a more brilliant place. Each bore within them a Power stone, shaped as a hexagonal crystal, which served as the pupil of his eyes. From the structure I presumed he had telescopic vision, a very useful trait for anyone to have (he could focus in and out on anything, near or far, quite beyond normal human capacities). Seeing him, I smiled, and the Ward smiled back, hesitantly.

Two more Hands assaulted him, both at once. The Ward recoiled and leapt twenty feet into the air, propelled by his superhuman strength. He cast both of his swords down from the air, striking another Hand and pinning it to the ground, where it writhed in agony. The second Hand swept up, intending to crush him, and indeed he looked to have little means to counter it. I intervened, throwing an Everstone lance and catching the hand in the center of the palm. The golden warrior delivered the wounded limb a sudden and powerful kick, hurling it into the benches on the floor below. The Hand moved no more, and began to crumble into dark ether.

The Ward floated to the floor and swept up his swords just as Wizeman's remaining hands closed upon him. One struck him with an open-handed swing—the blow sent him flying towards me. I outstretched my hand and created a web of Power; the Ward struck it, bounced lightly off and landed on the floor at my side.

Wizeman emitted a dissatisfied sigh. Now he had three Hands remaining—the others lay upon the floor, slowly disintegrating. "_I see that your powers have grown, Narrator—your creations are greater than they once were. But you can never match my capacity for perfection…_"

"I beg to differ," I said, crossing my arms. "I have not yet begun to fight."

There was a grating rumble like a million large electromagnets firing in perfect synchrony. A massive impact rocked the cathedral; the glass windows shattered one after another, coating the floors in the broken shards of their remnants. The great stone vault of the ceiling began to buckle and crack as lances of light pierced its dark surface, and massive sections of stone vaporized, turned into a fine dust that rained slowly down to the floor. There was a gasping rush of air as the top portion of the building was consumed by a great sea of golden energy. The dark church was laid bare, and the light of Nightopia poured in like a river.

High above, a great silvery shape pulled into view, like the head of a great serpent, eyes glossy and blank. It was a ship, a gargantuan ship, a leviathan of the skies—a Framer battleship, to which all the forces of the modern world could not begin to compare. Even a few miles above, it still blotted out the sky, and each of its segments was the size of a mountain. Even I could not fathom its size, only to say that it was incomparably huge.

"_A fine illusion,_" Wizeman rumbled.

I smiled—now the battle was back in my court. "Not an illusion, Wizeguy—an illusion with a perimeter cannon."

The very air seemed to shake with the rumble of a thousand electrical devices channeling into one another. The terrible, earth-shattering weapon came alive—the perimeter cannon, a weapon of infinite range and power, the only factor being exactly how thoroughly the operator wanted its target destroyed, be it the head of a pin or half a galaxy. A blinding sphere of golden Power superimposed itself over Wizeman, as the computer selected its target and initialized the firing procedure.

The perimeter cannon fired. Thunder roared, lightning crackled and split, fire burned without limit and the very seams of reality strained under the pressure, the immense blast barely contained by even the trappings of time and existence. The golden sphere burned with colors too brilliant and rich to be conceived by the human mind. Through this, there were no sounds—every noise that I heard came from within, fallout from the strength of the blast which was in reality completely silent. Such a weapon could not be used without causing side-effects strange and inexplicable in those who dared to observe it.

In a moment, the assault was over. Wizeman still hung from the air, great and terrible; his eyes glared at me, malignant and wrathful.

The Lord of the Nightmares suddenly teetered; he fell forwards, and came crashing down to the stone floor. His Hands shrieked and melted in midair as their master collapsed, his powers spent, and lay, still and motionless, a few yards from me.

Wizeman's voice came again, rising from the floor like a broken whisper. There was no thunder, no wrath, nothing indicating the power he had once possessed. "_I admit defeat… I cannot compete… with he who can create things never dreamed of before…"_

Excited, I thrust my hand into the air. "YES! Victory is mine!"

NiGHTS popped up from behind me, leaning over my shoulder to stare at Wizeman's fallen form. "You neutralized him! Wow! How did you do it?"

I smiled. "Oh, I made something way bigger than he was. How do you kill something with all the power of the world? Make powers not _of_ the world!"

Owl suddenly appeared, perching atop NiGHTS' head (which the jester did not seem to enjoy very much). "My, my! Do my eyes truly see what lies before me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just committed deicide," I said blandly. "So, do I get to take his place or something now?"

Owl looked intently at me. "Wizeman is not dead, Narrator. He is merely wounded. You must destroy him completely, or he will recover and return, to plague you again."

I frowned. "So you want me to finish him off then? Ehhh—I'm not too big on the "no prisoners" issue…"

A new voice addressed me. "I shall do it for you, if you request."

All three of us turned. The Framer Ward had one hand up, clenched into a fist. He looked around, searching for signs of approval. He had a strong voice, one that spoke of glorious ages long since past. "If the Creator does not wish to do it, I will do it for him. I see no shame in carrying the death of the envoy of evil."

I nodded. "Yes, that would be agreeable… ummm…" I furrowed my brow. "Ah, crap, I haven't given you a name yet… that might be useful, if I want to cement your existence…"

The Ward's expression changed to a visibly perplexed look. "I… I suppose that is true," he admitted.

"Hmmm. You seem to have a theme of green about you—my favorite color, hah—so I could call you Jade." I paused, contemplating. "Jade. Yes, that's a very nice name."

NiGHTS hovered over to the Framer Ward, looking him over closely (he stepped backwards, looking rather discomfited). "You look familiar… have I seen you somewhere?"

Owl chuckled. "I believe Narrator made him in your image, NiGHTS. Quite adorable, if I may say so myself, _hoo_…"

"You're a very handsome, uh, whatever-you-are," NiGHTS said approvingly.

Jade smiled lopsidedly. "Thank you, NiGHTS." He looked back towards me. "So, shall we finish this act up, before your little friends drag you away?"

He motioned over his shoulder, and I followed his line of sight. Indeed, I could see a few Awakeners, creeping past Wizeman's motionless body.

"I… I am uncertain," I replied, frowning. "It seems a little too easy." I turned around, facing Owl. "Tell me, Owl—what's the catch here?"

"Well, the benefits are significant," the little bird said, ruffling his feathers. "You would have no need to fear Wizeman, or for that matter any of his minions, being in your Nightopia anymore. When you destroy Wizeman, all of his Nightmarens will cease along with him."

"So?" I asked, irritated. "Oh, come on. It's not that goddamn simple and we _both_ know it. There has to be a karmic whiplash of some sort involved here."

Owl gave me a forlorn look, and then a deep sigh. "That _is_ the catch, Narrator. _ALL_ Nightmaren will-"

There was a flash and a mechanical clatter; Mariner appeared next to me. "Hey, Narrator… I've got a present for you." The gun-Maren extended his hands; a small, red sphere of energy glowered in his grasp.

Owl hooted nearby. "Narrator's Courage Ideya! Where did you find it?"

The Nightmaren bowed his head, smirking. "Turns out Reala was holding it the whole time. I convinced him to give it up, in exchange for letting him out from under that mound of benches. He promptly vacated Nightopia—I don't think he'll be bothering to return anytime soon, he was quite unsettled when I saw him. I think he sees the writing on the wall—when Narrator takes down Wizeman, we're going to be in BIG trouble if we stay here."

"Why?" I asked suddenly.

Mariner looked at me, frowning. "Well, Wizeman made us, and we rely on his power to sustain ourselves. Naturally then, when you obliterate his capacities to operate in your Nightopia, our energy feeds are also cut. We will fade along with him."

I emitted a horrified gasp. "What? Are you serious?"

Mariner nodded. He smiled, though. "It is unavoidable… but I do believe that _you_, Narrator, could do something about it."

I frowned, thinking. "Well, I can't really rewrite that law of existence, being outside my domain to modify, but I might be able to make an exception or something…." I closed my eyes, deep in thought. "Hrmmm. The real question is…. What kind of energy do Nightmaren need?"

"Dreaming-energy, of course," Mariner said. He looked at my Courage Ideya, emitting its own light in his hands. "Usually, we can't use Ideya very well as energy-sources, but you have already given me that ability. I could easily survive off of your Ideya."

Owl clicked his beak. "That is very unorthodox—the energy needs of a high-level Nightmaren are immense, and I do not recommend it as an option."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm already supporting like what, two or three dozen Wards? What's one more gonna do to me, huh?"

The bird nodded, with some reluctance. "Indeed, that may be the case. You have been giving Mariner a large amount of Dreaming-energy for a while now, and so a full conversion would probably not harm either of you."

"What would it take?"

Owl shrugged. "Quite honestly, I do not know. YOU are the Creator, Narrator—you must find a way yourself."

"Okay, sure." I stroked my chin for a moment. "How about if I make a little Ideya, and fuse it to you? That way, you can have an independent source of energy, so you don't even need to be close to me!"

"That would be very agreeable to me," Mariner said, smiling. "But where will you take that energy from?"

I looked at him, and then looked at the Courage Ideya in his hands. "Give me that Ideya, please."

Mariner handed me the glowing sphere of energy. Rather than absorbing it as soon as I touched it, I held it in its raw state. It thrummed and pulsed in perfect synchrony with my heart. "I don't really need this anyways. Courage is overrated."

I grasped the Ideya with both hands, and pulsing in a large amount of Power from my Creator Ideya, split it in half. The Courage Ideya severed into two hemispheres, which quickly melted down into two spheres, each the size of a baseball.

Owl protested, flapping his wings. "I must say, that may not be the best use of your Courage Ideya, Narrator! Would it not be wiser to break off a part of your Creator Ideya instead?"

"And affect my godly powers?" I stared at him as though he was mad. "Hell no! Besides, if I need Courage, I'll swap him for one of my other Ideya. No big deal. Here, Mariner—you take this one."

The Nightmaren accepted the glowing sphere. It merged into his body as soon as he touched it. There was an immediate change in him; red light danced around his shoulders. He suddenly spawned a cape, brilliant white like my own, pinned in place by a broach with my personal crest emblazoned upon it.

Mariner pulled out one of his pistols and spun it around on his hand. "I feel stronger already… surely, this is the true might of the Courage Ideya…"

I turned towards NiGHTS, who was staring blankly at Wizeman's big head, flat on the ground nearby. "Hey, NiGHTS, come over here. I don't want _you_ disappearing either."

The jester floated over, almost reluctantly. I extended my hand, pushing the Ideya towards her.

NiGHTS looked at me, looked at the Ideya, and then looked back at me. She reached out, grasped my wrist, and pushed my arm backwards. The Ideya touched my chest, and I felt my heart skip a beat. I had to fight an impulse to avoid consuming the Courage Ideya. "NiGHTS, what's wrong? Do you _want_ to die?"

The jester shook her head sadly. "No, Narrator, not at all, but I can't… I can't accept one of your Ideya, especially your Courage Ideya. It is a precious item, and it is for you and you alone."

I gave her a flat, irritated stare. "If I need it back, NiGHTS, you can just give it to me. I would much rather have_ you_ around than have this." I lowered my eyes, uncomfortably. "If it's that big of a deal for you, NiGHTS, I'll split off my Creator Ideya and give you a piece of that. You're more important to me than that, even. Maybe I can make another Ideya… but I can't make another NiGHTS."

NiGHTS shook her head. "No, Narrator, I can't do it. I appreciate you offering, really I do, but…" She smiled sadly. "That would mean taking you as my master."

I blinked. "Yes, and so? What's the big deal?" I motioned to the ruined cathedral around me. "Where I come from, _billions_ of people worship a master, and I don't mean simply follow but bow, worship and give homage to, a master who they will never see in their lifetimes who in all honesty is kind of a jerk. I'm a very reasonable guy— don't get on my case, I won't get on yours, and I'm _always_ open to negotiation. _Everyone_ has a master, so why not you?"

"I don't want a master, though," NiGHTS explained. "Don't get me wrong, I do like you, and I do think you're a nice person, but I need to be _free_, to do whatever I want…"

"Including leaving me in your dust?" I replied curtly. "If you leave, NiGHTS, there's no coming back. You may never see me again. You'll probably forget who I ever was. Is that what you want? Is that what you call _freedom?_"

NiGHTS smiled sadly. "That's not really something we have power over. When you wake up, you may forget too. Even if you remember, your Nightopia is massive, and you will never return to the same places—how could you find me?"

"I'm goddamned Narrator," I swiftly returned. "I will find you. I will find you if it means chasing you into the void. I won't leave you behind."

The jester bowed her head, her forced smile unreadable. "I hope you are right, Narrator… I hope you are."

Something bumped my leg; it was an Awakener, its ethereal white body a reminder of time all too limited.

I sighed. "Okay, okay. I know it's time. I'll give my farewells, deal with Wizeguy and be on my way."

I turned, first to Mariner. "Mariner… keep your eyes out for me. I shall soon return."

I then looked towards Owl. "Owl… thank you for your wisdom. You have been of great aid to me. I think I will see you again, if it is possible."

Finally, I turned back towards NiGHTS. "My dearest, NiGHTS… I love you. I love you, even though I cannot have you—an unattainable love, I suppose, is much more romantic. My dear violet friend… this is for you."

I turned abruptly about, towards where Wizeman lay upon the ground. "Alright, you floating towel rack… you are not my master. I am YOURS. And this is my judgment upon you…"

Smiling, I held up the remnants of my Courage Ideya. The red sphere of dreaming-energy glowered like a lantern, and its light blanketed the ruins of the cathedral.

My voice filled the air as I put forth my power. "Wizeman, Lord of the Nightmares—this is the end of your realm in my home! You shall NEVER tread upon my Dream Realm again, lest the seas rebel against you, the earth refuse to bear you, and the very air move to consume you where you stand! By the power of this gem, and my powers as Creator—BE GONE FROM ME!"

I hurled the bright gem towards him. There was a blinding flash of crimson, and in an instant, Wizeman was no more, along with the stone that had sealed him.

Smiling, I turned around. I ignored Owl's blank stare, Mariner's confused look—I cared little for their opinions. Instead, I looked straight at NiGHTS. The jester's expression was blank; for a moment, I worried.

NiGHTS suddenly smiled, a coy smirk. "Can't just go with the program, huh, Narrator?"

I shrugged. "I'm a Creator. I do it _my_ way."

I looked down at my feet; there were the Awakeners, maybe half a dozen, waiting by my heels. "Yes, I'm ready now. Get to work, you little twits."

The Awakeners hovered into the air and latched onto me, firm but not ungentle. I looked back at NiGHTS. "Better get moving, NiGHTS. I'll be after you again soon enough."

The jester bowed in midair. "My pleasure, Narrator."

Then there was white—my dreams concluded, and I slipped between the realms where indeed, there was little of anything, and back towards the Waking World. Even in that moment, though, there was no sadness, no regret. Narrator's story was only begun.

_Fin_


End file.
